Spiral
by Datenshi Blue1
Summary: Although not an AU, the story takes place six years after the end of the anime, when Ryoma is 18. What happened when he was in America that has made him like that? And who will be able to get the old Ryoma back? Part 4 up!
1. Prologue Nightmares

**Title:** Spiral  
**Chapter:** Prologue - Nightmares  
**Author:** Datenshi Blue  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters:** Ryoma, Momo, Fuji, Tezuka, Atobe, Ryoga, Yuuta and many others probably.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I have fun torturing them.  
**Notes:** This is kind of an experiment. Although it's not an AU, the story takes place six years after the end of the anime, when Ryoma is 18. I'm trying to write this as a response to a challenge, but I'm not sure it's going to work, because I'm too happy a person to write dark fics XD That's why I would really appreciate any kind of comment and thoughts about this little prologue. I don't want to fall in easy angst, because I hate it, and yes, there's a reason why Ryoma is like that. There is also going to be a plot, for a change. And I kind of know where I'm going also for a change, so chances are high that I'm going to write this consistently (well, if it looks interesting for anyone else) So please, read and review?

**SPIRAL  
By Datenshi Blue **

PROLOGUE - NIGHTMARES

A scream breaks the silence and wakes Ryoma up. It takes him a moment to realize that he was the one screaming, so loud that his throat feels raw and the effort to stiffle a soft cough makes his shoulders shake. He is panting, and slightly shivering. It is not cold in his room, though, in fact he is sweating and feels hot, a familiar and disgusting heat running through his body, the last traces of a nightmare that he keeps seeing over and over again, that has been actually haunting him for years, making his thin frame tremble with fear and obvious lust.

A fear he doesn't want to acknowledge. A lust he doesn't want to give in to.

And so, Ryoma rolls to his side, sliding his arm under his pillow and curling against himself, ignoring the urge to reach out and grab his erection with gentle hands, stroking himself until there is only white light inside his head, everything else blurred or forgotten. No pain, no memories, no tennis, not even need.

He reaches for the sheets, instead, a forgotten heap of clothes that lies on the floor, probably because he kicked them off while thrashing about in his sleep, and covers himself with them, the expensive satin feeling cool against his fevered skin. His body is aching for release, though, and cool satin sheets won't fool it. Ryoma shuts his eyes and his grip on the sheets tightens. He is nothing if not stubborn, probably the most familiar feature of his personality after his legendary snarky temper, and he is not going to lose this fight against his body.

He was sure that coming back to Japan was going to be good for his mind. He was so sure that the nightmares would go away while he was back in the place he was the happiest at, that he feels cheated and disappointed now. It seems obvious that a trip down memory lane isn't going to do anything to clean his soul and the realization comes down on him like a cold shower. Not that he couldn't use a cold shower now to get certain parts of his body back to sleep, he thinks with a dark humour.

Ryoma sighs. There is nothing he can do, except being strong, and once he has decided he won't give in, he just won't. Maybe tomorrow he will find a way to exhaust himself so that he can sleep soundly. He has got a match, too. That is good. Tennis is good.

Tennis is everything.

And with that thought, Ryoma makes a point of ignoring the nagging voice in the back of his mind that tells him with an unpleasant tone that he is just using tennis to avoid facing his real troubles and that something like that is being unfair towards the sport that has always meant so much to him.

But Ryoma isn't a twelve-year-old anymore, and he has grown enough to learn that, sometimes, choosing to believe something is better than being honest about it. And, at least for now, tennis is good. It wears him out, it makes him push his stamina to the limit and it makes him ache, exhausting his body enough to make him fall almost unconscious in bed once he is done with his games and training.

And if that isn't enough, there are always different ways to keep the nightmares - and that special, filthy desire that comes with them - away. Like losing himself in the arms of another person, having them sweep his mind clean while giving his body the pleasure it seems to need to forget about those dark dreams. Yes, casual sex with an anonymous partner always works.

At least as a last resource. In the end, Ryoma can't help but wonder if it won't debauch him even further, taking him down in a spiral of sin and corruption and unsatisfactory satiation.

Ryoma closes his eyes, tired and sick of those thoughts and the images he has seen in his dreams and tries to sleep, without success. Nights like these are long and lonely and filled with unwelcome pain, and memories and unshed tears, and he knows it. Knowing it doesn't make it easier, though, but there is nothing he can do. Barbiturates or sleeping pills will make him test positive in the doping controls and that is something he can't afford. Not when tennis is the only thing keeping him sane.

At least these depressing thoughts have cooled his body down. He won't be getting any sleep, but he has won his little battle. That is better than nothing.


	2. Chapter 1 Ghosts

**Title:** Spiral  
**Chapter:** Prologue - Nightmares  
**Author:** Datenshi Blue  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters:** Ryoma, Momo, Fuji, Tezuka, Atobe, Ryoga, Yuuta and many others probably.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I have fun torturing them.  
**Notes:** This is kind of an experiment. Although it's not an AU, the story takes place six years after the end of the anime, when Ryoma is 18. I'm trying to write this as a response to a challenge, but I'm not sure it's going to work, because I'm too happy a person to write dark fics XD That's why I would really appreciate any kind of comment and thoughts about this little prologue. I don't want to fall in easy angst, because I hate it, and yes, there's a reason why Ryoma is like that. There is also going to be a plot, for a change. And I kind of know where I'm going also for a change, so chances are high that I'm going to write this consistently (well, if it looks interesting for anyone else) So please, read and review? 

**SPIRAL  
By Datenshi Blue 

Chapter 1 - Ghosts

**

It is cold, even for an early April morning. However, most of the audience that has gathered in the Tokyo Dome to watch today's tennis game does not seem to care, or to even notice it. They are mesmerized by the match they are watching. Both players seem to have reached an almost inhuman level of concentration, both are focused on their game and almost dancing across the court. The smaller player is winning, and it really does not come as a surprise. Echizen Ryoma is the new rising star, after all. He is the American tennis prodigy that almost won his first US Open six years ago, when he was twelve. Echizen Ryoma disappeared from the tennis scene for several years after that and appeared again last summer, coming seemingly from nowhere and, almost literally, sweeping his rivals from the court. Rumour has it that he was not happy at all despite the awesome results, because there were up to seven players in the tennis history that had managed to win a Grand Slam in their first attempt. It does not seem to matter to him that he was only twelve during his first attempt at the US Open - and thus becoming the youngest player _ever_ to make it to a final round of a world class tournament -, or that he managed the no trivial feat of winning the second place against all odds. That first US Open is a dark spot in his record, or so Echizen Ryoma thinks.

That would explain his aggressive playstyle, the one that made him run to the first position of his second US Open without having lost a single set. The seventeen-year-old player made a big name for himself in just a few weeks. After the US Open came the Australian Open that finished just a couple of months ago. By the beginning of February, Echizen Ryoma had two Grand Slam titles in his possession, was - at last - the eighth player to win a Grand Slam in his first appearance at the event, and seemed invincible.

Why such a big player is interested in a minor tournament in Japan - the AIG Japan Open, which is part of the professional circuit and would suit him better is not held until October, after all - is something that nobody can really explain. Some say he is just training for the upcoming Roland Garros. Others try to go a bit further. There have been a couple of interesting articles about him in important tennis magazines. They talk about how his father was a professional player years ago, one that was called "Samurai" because of his Asian heritage, and they suppose that Echizen Ryoma wants to get closer to his own origins. After all, both his parents are Japanese, even if the kid has lived in the United States most of his life. Few people know that he spent a few months in Japan back when he was twelve. Even fewer people know that those months are probably what he considers the best times of his life. So most reporters can only guess at what has brought him to Japan when the French Open is around the corner.

In truth, not even Echizen Ryoma knows.

Six years ago, he left Seigaku to pursue his dreams and play the US Open. He deserted his friends at the worst possible time, just when the National Tournament, the goal they all had been striving towards together, was about to start. He had to make up his mind and make a choice: his career as a professional tennis player or a Jr. High School National Tournament. His heart was telling him to stay and play along with his friends. But everyone told him that a twelve-year-old's heart cannot be trusted and that he'd better pack his things and aim for the world. And even if Ryoma has never considered his father a well of wisdom, he certainly held a lot of respect for his captain. And his captain told him that it was enough if he could be Seigaku's Pillar of Support from afar. Even his best friend - and probably his first love -, Momoshiro Takeshi, had pushed him towards his dreams with tears in his eyes.

Seigaku won the National Tournament that year, even without Echizen Ryoma supporting them. Ryoma lost both the US Open and the only chance he would ever have to play a National Tournament with all his friends.

Regret? Everyone used to lecture him and tell him that he would regret it if he did not seize that opportunity and, instead, let it go to waste in exchange for a Jr. High School tournament. In Ryoma's eyes, going to play that US Open is one of the worst mistakes he has ever made. It probably wasn't too soon, given that he made it to the finals, but it had consequences he had not foreseen and that had a lot to do with a whimsical father that has never been totally right in the head.

Ryoma hadn't wanted to go back to America. Ryoma was happy in Japan. He had friends he loved dearly, a tennis team that would last unbroken for another six months and, yes, that too, a relationship to explore with Momo-senpai, even if they were too young at the time to fully understand what that meant.

What was there in America for him? A special coach, a lot of tennis, his father's pressure and the return of his half-brother Ryoga to the family. That's right, to add to all those things that did not make a lot of sense in Echizen Ryoma's life, one fine day Ryoga came back, just as suddenly as he had disappeared so many years ago.

But Ryoma does not like to think about Ryoga. In fact, Ryoma does make a point of avoiding anything that has to do with his half-brother. Now, if only avoiding the nightmares was that easy.

With a sound that is half a moan and half a scream, Ryoma hits the ball with all his considerable strength and an added dark violence that has become his trademark, and his opponent cannot even move towards it to try to return it. With that, the match is over and Ryoma scowls, frustrated. _Mada mada dane_, he thinks. He hasn't exhausted his body enough to grant himself a good night sleep, even after the barbaric training menu he has to follow after lunch.

The audience is clapping and screaming in delight. A lot of young girls are running towards the front of the stands intent on getting Echizen Ryoma's autograph. He is a world star now, after all. And he _feels_ Japanese, even if people always talk about him as the American genius, so he is considered an idol, or something close enough to that, in Japan. Maybe he did not give a damn about Japan when he was a child, except for a hollow curiosity that came from the way his mother talked about her country and the language he spoke and read at home, since his father sucked at English, anyway. But all of that changed after his freshman year in Seishun Gakuen. Ryoma is Japanese in his heart, even if he has not been back in Japan ever since. Japan means fair game to him, implicit respect and the yearning to go further and higher. And a cobalt blue flag with a Jr. High School badge fluttering calmly under a cloudless summer sky.

Echizen is not stupid, though. He knows he has been idealizing Japan (Seigaku) for years and that chances are high that he will be disappointed when he is finally back. But, for the time being, things like hearing the melodious language being spoken everywhere around him and being able to see the cherry trees blooming all over the place are enough to soothe his heart. At least when he is not trying to sleep.

He scribbles his name on some pictures, distractedly, feeling the cool air drying the sweat in his forehead now that he took his cap off. People are leaving the stadium but he does not really care about them, or the so-called fans jumping around him, asking for a handshake. He wants to take a shower and stroll around the city, walking until his legs ache. He might give in and just self-indulge for a while, entering the McDonalds he used to have dinner at, if it is still standing, and sitting down at the table he used to share with Momo-senpai where he will let his mind wander off for a bit.

He might even visit his old school, just to feel that poignant pain that pierces one's heart when coming across dear memories. Echizen Ryoma is only eighteen, but he feels old and pathetic clinging like that to his past.

Ryoma throws his head back to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand and that is when he sees him. There is a young man still sitting in the stands, surrounded by people that are leaving, watching him intently. Ryoma startles. He thinks he knows that face, he thinks he knows those half-lidded deep blue eyes and he recognizes the excitement they raise inside his chest. Ryoma lifts a hand to shadow his eyes so that he can take a better look, but the person has disappeared, mingling among the crowd.

"Fuji-senpai..." Ryoma whispers, his voice barely audible among the little cries of the girls surrounding him. He smiles to himself, a bitter and mirthless line that slightly curves his lips upwards and signs another picture, trying hard not to shake his head mockingly, laughing at himself. "Mada mada dane," he repeats, and his voice apparently sounds as impersonal and empty as always. Only the people that know him well would get the dark, scathing and annoyed tone he inflicts to his words. It is bad enough to be haunted by ghosts of his past. But _seeing_ them everywhere is just a little too much.

Ryoma apologizes detachedly and grabs his tennis bag and his cap and, ignoring the photographers and journalists trying to get some words from him, he heads for the changing room without looking back.

By night, Ryoma has found a way to numb his body and even his mind. He is discarding his clothes carelessly, throwing black jeans to the floor and flinging his white shirt to the corner of his hotel room. There are a pair of hungry hands touching his chest and caressing his shoulders even as hot lips try to lock Ryoma's in a kiss. The tennis player responds to the caresses but not to the kiss. His lover stops insisting after he realizes that those lips will not move under his and goes instead to kiss his neck and bite his earlobe a tad too harshly. Echizen knows that he is being punished for his stubborn coldness and he grins at the audacity of his partner.

A pair of naked bodies fall on the bed and Ryoma moans almost helplessly when his lover slides into his tight passage with not nearly enough preparation. But that's all right because that is how Ryoma likes it. Anonymous, painful and wild. Something that will leave him too sore and tired to do anything other than sleep peacefully once it's over. He buries his nails into the shoulders of the body on top of him and shuts his eyes tightly, until there are only rays of red light flashing against a black background. Even if rough, his lover is not cruel and has grabbed his length with almost impossibly tender hands, stroking him at the same speed he is pushing in and out him. With the first brush against his prostate, Ryoma comes into his lover's hand, biting his lower lip to muffle a scream. He feels his body shaking, riding the last waves of his climax while his partner is still thrusting his hips wildly, looking for his own release. It does not take too long, and when it happens, he collapses on top of Ryoma's smaller body, making it hard for him to breathe.

Ryoma pushes him gently to his side, and props himself up, looking appreciatively at the beautiful body and the pretty face of the young man he met by chance in the pub at the hotel's lobby. He had been trying to drink himself stupid when Ryoma entered the elegant place, sitting at the bar by his side and ordering Ponta. Ryoma cannot remember how they started talking. The guy - he has not even heard his name - is in his early twenties and has gone to Tokyo for a job entrance exam, that much he knows. It seems he has just graduated and is now an architect in search for a job, with no luck. Well, something like that. Ryoma was not really paying attention while the other drawled, complaining about his bad luck. After all, Ryoma has never been a good listener.

No, Ryoma is a man of action. And tonight he has not gotten nearly enough. With a dark smile, he gets closer, getting rid of his partner's used condom with hands that are, perhaps, too proficient at such a task, or so the look in the other's eyes seems to say. Ryoma does not care. It's not like he is going to see him again after the night is over. He discards the rubber, throwing it into the litter bin with an accurate shot and lowers his head, licking the softening flesh with hungry lips.

When the other youth is writhing with desire, Ryoma lets go and prepares himself while his lover slips into another condom. A minute later he straddles him, lowering himself slowly until he feels the head against his entrance. Then he lets his hips fall down, until the young man's cock is completely buried within him. Ryoma arches his back, a low moan escaping his parted lips before he starts riding his nameless partner with rhythmic motions, raising his hips and lowering them swiftly.

This is nothing but just another meaningless night in Echizen Ryoma's life. For him, sex is nothing but a means to avoid his nightmares. Ryoma already knows that they will not appear if his body feels sated and he is too exhausted to think too much. It is not the most orthodox method to keep his sanity, but it is as good as any other. The world is a mean place in which, just as he had to find out rather crudely several years ago, tennis is not the answer to every problem. However, sometimes Ryoma misses the days when he thought it was, and he knows he is not the only one. But that's just how things are and he can't do anything else to make them better.

* * *

Tezuka Kunimitsu raises an eyebrow and almost smirks. Ever since he got his own place, the stern young man has been more relaxed. Not that Tezuka Kunimitsu can be relaxed in any situation - he would not be Tezuka Kunimitsu if he could -, but at least he does not have that almost military harshness around him all the time. 

That serious appearance, though, and the way he excels at his law studies are what have granted him a rather nice position in an important lawyer firm, albeit he has just started his third year of college. A nice position that produces an income that allows him to live on his own without any help from his parents even though he is only twenty. But that shouldn't be surprising; Tezuka has always been a successful man.

He is sitting now on the edge of the big sofa that stands in front of the TV set. Echizen Ryoma has made it to the news again. Of course Tezuka knows that he won the US and Australian Opens, but it seems Echizen has come back to Japan and is playing some kind of minor tournament. They are showing pictures of Echizen grabbing the peak of his white baseball cap with that sullen look of his. It is so familiar an image that it almost hurts.

Well, perhaps it _does_ hurt. Just a little.

Tezuka caresses his left shoulder with his right hand, almost wistfully. Each time he sees Echizen Ryoma in the sports news - and lately that has been happening a lot - he remembers his third year in Jr. High School and the way all his dreams seemed to become a reality. It was painful, and he had to walk a long and rocky road, but he does not regret anything.

Well, perhaps he does, but he would never admit it in front of anyone. If there is something he regrets, that is pushing Echizen away when he was offered to play the US Open six years ago. He would do the same again, because that was what had to be done. But Tezuka had wanted to go to the Nationals with the whole team, and Echizen was part of that team. He knew Echizen had wanted to come along, too. It was too easy to understand the kid because he was so similar to Tezuka himself.

Tezuka hears a small sigh and snorts when he realizes it was his own. For a kid that spent only six months with them, he changed their lives considerably. Tezuka thinks that not one of the regular members of that year's tennis team has been able to forget Echizen. And it is, at the very least, surprising. There have been other people coming into Tezuka's life, staying far longer than Echizen did, and leaving again, and Tezuka will hardly spare a thought for them. But it is different with Echizen Ryoma. The small tennis player probably was a catalyst, inspiring them to fight with all their might and to make their dreams come true. Well, that was what being Seigaku's Pillar of Support meant, after all. And the kid lived up to that title. And while it is really a shame that he walked out of their lives because of the US Open, it is no use crying over spilt milk, so to speak.

The phone rings and Tezuka startles slightly. He reaches for the receiver after lowering the TV's volume.

"Tezuka," he says curtly, his eyes still glued to the screen where Echizen seems to be having a hard time facing the cameras and the fans. He has always been a shy kid, after all. Echizen's troubled face almost makes Tezuka smile.

"He's back," says a deep voice on the other side of the telephone. It is a voice Tezuka knows well enough to identify its owner even though he has not even introduced himself. But why that person cares about Echizen - because he is obviously talking about him -, is something that escapes Tezuka's comprehension.

Then again, it is hard to reckon the length of Echizen's influence, as he has noticed already.

"Yes, he is." Tezuka does not ask why the other is interested or what the phonecall is about. He is not the kind to ask such things. Besides, he knows he will find out sooner or later.

"Aren't you going to see him?"

The harmless question manages to annoy him, and Tezuka frowns. There is no reason for it to annoy him, but there it is, a hot and frustrating feeling in the pit of his stomach. However, he refuses to give in and wonder about - or even acknowledge - that unpredictable reaction.

"I have no reason to. It's been six years, I don't play tennis anymore and he beat me, anyway. It's over." Tezuka feels that he is talking too much. There was no need to go that far. He raises his hand and presses two fingers against his right temple. He can feel a headache coming.

"You are twenty and you still think that it's all about tennis, aah?"

"Atobe..."

If there is a warning in Tezuka's low tone of voice, Atobe Keigo chooses to ignore it.

"Are you going to waste another chance?" There is a soft laugh and Tezuka thinks that he will be able to see Atobe's smug smile if he only closes his eyes. He does not answer, though. He will not be so easily taunted. "Well, it's okay with me," comes Atobe's voice after a short while. "I just thought that I should warn you. He is not the only one that's back."

Tezuka raises an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

There is another laughter. His old friend is surely enjoying this. Well, Tezuka cannot blame him. There aren't many chances to push his buttons, after all, so it is understandable that Atobe takes advantage of this one.

"I'm so not missing any of it. It's going to be fun. Keep your eyes open, Tezuka."

With that, Atobe hangs up and Tezuka puts his phone down, looking back at the screen. The tennis news seem to be over and now there is some famous soccer player speaking at a press conference. Tezuka switches the television off and runs his left hand through his unrully brown hair thoughtfully, sighing somehow in defeat: Atobe's words are definitely bothering him. _That_ cannot be a good omen.

* * *

Developing photographs has always been a relaxing task. The smell of the chemicals that some people find disgusting makes Fuji Syuusuke feel at home. Then again, he has always had weird tastes. Liking the smell of the chemicals used to develop photos or the taste of things that make other people wince - or retch, at that - like Inui's juices or the infamous wasabi sushi, has always been Fuji's personal signature. That his friends when he was a kid understood and respected Fuji's weird tastes, only proves that children are more open-minded and more proficient at the difficult task of getting used to things than adults. Fuji has read about that. There are plenty of scientific studies that prove that children can get over situations that would probably manage to break an adult. 

Then again, Fuji is not sure where the line between a child and an adult is drawn. Or how much it takes for a child to be broken. Because as flexible as they seem to be, they also have a point of inflection and if they are pushed too far, children can also lose it. One just has to take a look at some Psychology book to find a thousand severe cases of infantile trauma, after all.

Fuji carefully observes the image appearing in the photographic paper that he is holding firmly with the specially padded pegs and it makes him wonder if, rather than plain professional deformity, isn't the expression he has seen in Echizen's face during today's match what has triggered all of this thinking. It is not only the expression, but the violence in his playstyle and the haunted look in his eyes. A look that hasn't been hard to identify, since Fuji is used to see it in his own eyes whenever he opens them in front of a mirror. And the dark violence in Echizen's motions seems to show that he does not play tennis just to enjoy himself anymore - although Echizen was clearly enjoying his match, at least at the beginning -, but, rather, as a means to get something else.

But Fuji is probably seeing things and thinking too much. He has not seen Echizen for six years, and his tennis was bound to grow stronger and harsher, so it is not really strange that the kid is now a killer in the court. Fuji wonders how long will it take for the press to find a suitable nickname for the American genius. Like father, like son, he thinks with a hint of amusement. If the father was a 'Samurai', the son is surely a 'Shinigami', the way he bluntly defeats every player he faces.

Fuji leaves the last photo to dry and gives it an interested look. He has taken plenty of them during today's match. It was really enlightening, being able to see Echizen's play so close again after so many years. There is very little left of the kid he knew when he was in Jr. High and Fuji still has not been able to decide whether the change is good or not. This Echizen is wild, he is a cyclone, very much like the smash he used to hit when he was a kid and that pales considerably in comparison with his new techniques. The new Echizen aims to win without a concern about anything else, and his strong will overwhelms his opponents.

It is exciting, in Fuji's opinion. If he was looking for a challenge, he just got himself one. And so timely, too.

But that is not all. There is also a genuine curiosity about the younger tennis player. Fuji can't help but wonder what has prompted those changes in Echizen and if they are only related to tennis. And not only that. In all honesty, Echizen's fluid movements and the dark aura surrounding him have excited Fuji in more than one way. It took some minutes, after the end of the match, for his heart to stop the crazy beating. He even found himself short of breath, even though he was not doing any kind of exercise.

Either Fuji is a sicko - and that is a very likely possibility - or there is some kind of violently sexual halo around Echizen. It has nothing to do with the teen being good looking - even though he has grown to become a very attractive man, the armies of female fans that follow him around the world are proof enough of that -, it is more about the attitude, the way he looks at people, the challenge shining in those golden eyes, the elegant but lazy way in which he moves his body when he is not playing that becomes voluptuously predatory when he is. Fuji wonders whether Echizen is even aware of these things or blissfully oblivious. If this was the Echizen he knew six years ago, he would already know the answer, but this new Echizen is a total stranger.

That thought, instead of making Fuji feel sad, brings a greedy smile to his lips. Getting to know Echizen again can be an even more interesting challenge than just beating him at tennis. Suddenly, life has taken a turn for the better.

* * *

Please! If you read all the way here, leave a review to give me fuel! Thanks 


	3. Chapter 2 Circles

**Title:** Spiral  
**Chapter:** Chapter 2 - Circles  
**Author:** Datenshi Blue  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters:** Ryoma, Momo, Fuji, Tezuka, Atobe, Ryoga, Yuuta and many others probably.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I have fun torturing them.  
**Notes:** I'm trying to avoid using Japanese words in this fic. I don't like Japanese words in English fics, at that, unless they are justified, but I admit I sometimes write them without even noticing. I don't think things like _Samurai_ or _Shinigami_ in the last chapter count. _Samurai_ for obvious reasons; after all it's how they call Echizen's dad even in the US. As for _Shinigami_, it was Fuji's thinking, and I needed only one word that acted as a nickname and could hold in its meaning the way Echizen plays tennis now. As someone wrote in a review, it probably wouldn't make it to the US media, since only the anime fans minority would get the meaning of the word, and that person is right. Then again, it's Fuji's thoughts and he has no reason to think _in English_. He was just looking for a word that fitted Ryoma better than that old _Samurai Jr._ thing.

I have used _kouhai_ - the opposite of _senpai_ - in this chapter. I've been changing it to other words, but in the end, I always return to _kouhai_. Even if _underclassman_ could work, I don't really like that it doesn't seem to hold the protective feeling that I associate _kouhai_ with. Maybe it's because of the way Momo usually talks about his _kouhai_ and his friendly ways with them. Anyway, it's the _senpai_'s duty to take care of their _kouhai_, and I don't think the words _upperclassman_ or _underclassman_ work that way. I'm sorry if that bothers anyone.

**SPIRAL  
By Datenshi Blue **

**Chapter 2 - Circles**

Momoshiro Takeshi hasn't stopped thinking about Echizen for a single day.

It has been six long years, but somehow Echizen has been there, in the back of his mind, all of that time. However, for a long time, his presence has been almost too faded to be anything more than just a warm and delicate longing at night, when Momo would close his eyes and think of what could have been if something as dull as a tennis tournament hadn't broken his heart.

Keeping in touch was easy at first. Right after the Nationals, Momo fell on a comfortable routine that included writing a long e-mail every other day. He would talk about his everyday life. The fall term had just started and it was easy to fill those wanna-be letters with small stories about his own family and school or stuff about the tennis club, such as special training menus, Tezuka's punishment after a prank Eiji-senpai and Momo himself had played on the first years or Inui's new creation that couldn't possibly be good for their health, if the way it burnt in their stomachs for days after the punishment was anything to go by.

Momo never talked about the only kiss he had ever stolen from Echizen, or the clumsy and innocent caresses that had followed. Or the feelings behind it all, for that matter.

It happened on a rainy day during the Senbatsu camp that year. Outdoors training had been suspended because of the heavy rain, and the gym was packed with kids building up. That is why Echizen and Momoshiro had chosen to stay outside and go on playing until an angry Tezuka had sent them indoors. Soaked and laughing despite the scolding, they had made their way to their shared room, and had used the bathroom in turns. When Momo came out of the small restroom drying his hair with a towel, his heart had positively melted at the sight of his kouhai curled against himself, deeply asleep on Momo's bed.

Momo had tried to wake him up as softly as possible. He still can remember the silky feeling of Echizen's hair against his hand as he ran his fingers through it tenderly, calling his name in a whisper once and again until Echizen finally fixed confused and vulnerable golden eyes on Momo's. A warm blush had spread through his face as he realized that he had fallen asleep on his friend's bed. That had probably been too much for Momo. Used to act first and think afterwards, Momoshiro had leaned forward, covering Echizen's lips with his. It wasn't until Echizen's lips actually started responding to the kiss that he realized what they were doing and by that time, nothing mattered anymore.

It was but one long and sloppy kiss seasoned with daring hands risking some graceless caresses over each other's clothes, and it did not last, for they were interrupted by some knocks on the door and a voice calling for dinner.

Sometimes, Momo thinks that he dreamt it all. Neither he nor Echizen addressed the topic after dinner, and they simply acted like they always did. There had been no tension, no awkwardness. It was almost as if nothing had happened, or as if it had been bound to be. They hadn't talked about it, not even when Echizen stated that he was leaving to play the US Open, and that is why Momo never mentioned it in his mails.

Neither did Echizen.

And yet, there was that special tenderness they both poured over the words they wrote for each other. Even now, Momo's eyes get wet when he dares to read those old electronic letters (yes, he keeps them all). But they were kids and kids soon get distracted by new hobbies, new people or new schools. On top of that, there is always room for regret, just as Momo found out when the next spring he let Echizen know that he had been selected the new captain of the Tennis Club. Momoshiro was sure that Echizen was as happy for him as he said he was in his e-mail, even if it took him five whole days to reply. That was when Momo realized that Echizen had never really had a choice, and that he hadn't been lying when he said that he'd rather play the Nationals than a Grand Slam. That also was when Momo became an expert at reading between Echizen's lines. And what he found there was bitterness and longing.

In time, he also found dejection, loneliness and something dangerously close to detachment. Slowly, the mails became rarer: once a week, once a month, once every other month... and suddenly, even though Momo remembered to occasionally sit down and try to mail Echizen, the words wouldn't come. The latest news he had had from his friend were that his older brother Ryoga had come back home and that they were training like crazy, each one with his own coach. Momo was appalled. Until that very moment he hadn't realized that you would never run out of things to say when you were by a friend's side. Even if you saw each other every day, there was always something to talk about. But that did not hold true when your friend was away from you. He hadn't "talked" with Echizen for months and a lot of things had been happening in their lives, but he was at a loss for words. He couldn't think of anything to talk about. Every word he wrote down sounded empty and deceitfully carefree and he would simply delete it.

Something died inside of Momo's heart the day he got rid of a mail he hadn't even started writing and simply stared blankly at the computer's screen, thinking that it would be nice to be able to grab all the years that had gone by since Echizen left - short of three - and throw them into a garbage can, getting a new chance to start things over. He would start by pinning Echizen to the bed and missing dinner on that rainy day during the Senbatsu camp, and by selfishly requesting him to go to the National Tournament with the rest of the team, even if that meant throwing away a unique opportunity.

A couple of days before his seventeenth birthday and not without a big dose of helpless despair, Momo found out that time and distance are two of the biggest enemies of love. But it was too late to do anything to save a friendship - had it ever been something else? - that had grown weak.

Momoshiro's birthday present for himself that year was a strong and heavy blow of reality delivered at his doorstep in the shape of his friend's gift. Echizen sent a carefully handmade card and a roll of Momo's favorite grip tape. It was late July and he hadn't had any news from Echizen - nor had Momoshiro mailed him - since Christmas. That was probably the reason why Echizen did not know that he had been forced to drop tennis for the rest of his High School time due to a severe injury in his left ankle that would need a long time to heal properly, if ever.

In spite of that, Momo never gave up tennis. He didn't give up their friendship either, especially when some months later, right after the Christmas break, Momo received a short mail from Echizen that had worried him deeply. His friend said that his parents were separating and divorce would probably follow. There were not many details. Ryoma was going to be sent to some famous boarding school that hosted the city's best tennis club and he would be working on improving his tennis under the wing of a new coach.

That was about it. Echizen did not tell him the reasons for the sudden separation, or what would happen to his brother. Momo didn't even know what the shy kid thought about the whole thing. And Echizen never answered any of the thousand mails he sent during the next weeks. In fact, Echizen never contacted him again.

From Momo's point of view, two years are not a time long enough to turn someone that has been as important in his life as Echizen has always been into a ghost. Momo thinks that that kind of ghosts are the faded memories of people who have had a main role in one's life, and who have disappeared so completely from it that they make one feel betrayed and slightly cold at the same time, or that turn one's favorite shrimp cutlet burger tasteless when one remembers them unexpectedly. Echizen only makes him feel warm and lonely. That is the reason why Echizen can't be a ghost. He is still Momoshiro's best friend, and something as insignificant as not having seen each other for six years, or not having talked to each other at all for more than two years does not change that.

But seeing Echizen in the news collecting Grand Slam trophies as easily as if he was still playing junior high kids instead of the world's best professional tennis players is really breaking the shell that Momoshiro has carefully built around their supposed relationship. He does not know that Echizen. The handsome young man looking at him from the TV screen has cold eyes and a raw playstyle that Momo definitely doesn't like or understand. And yet, it makes his heart beat faster, and there are butterflies in his stomach each time Echizen's lips curl in that familiar cocky smile.

One could say that Momoshiro is a gentle, happy young man, with an easy-going character and a smart - and loud - sense of humour that makes it fun to be around him. He's got expressive eyes of an uncommon color, a beautifully built body, and a handsome smile. In short, wherever he goes, Momoshiro Takeshi is a popular guy, both between the boys and the girls, which is why he has had his fair share of girlfriends, and also of boyfriends. He is the kind of person that falls in love with a character and not with a body, that's why he does not care about the gender of his special ones. However, there has always been a flame, one that wears Echizen's name, burning deep inside of him. It has always made him feel kind of guilty, as if he was still holding a candle for his old friend and thus was not being loyal to his partners.

Perhaps, that is the reason why Momoshiro has gone and bought a ticket for the final match of the tournament Echizen is playing. It is still some days away, but Momo has no doubt that Echizen will be one of the players fighting for the trophy, if not the one who will take it with him. He knows trying to approach Echizen at the end of that game will be difficult, at the very least. But he will try. It is not like he is a complete stranger after all.

For a long time, Echizen's presence has been almost too faded to be anything more than just a warm and delicate longing at night, but ever since he shook the tennis world at the end of last summer, Momoshiro can't stop thinking about him and - why deny it - how it would feel to wrap his arms around that firm body and finish what they started so clumsily so many years ago.

Momoshiro feels that the circle must be completed. He thinks it is a matter of fate or at least of something bigger than they - and the worlds they live in - are. Despite his interest in complex fractals - Momo's best subject has always been Mathematics after all - in his straightforward, clean mind, regarding Echizen, everything is as simple and transparent as those clear summer days they spent together six years ago.

Regarding Echizen, there is no room for neverending and obscure spirals.

* * *

Ryoma wakes up later than usual with a strong headache. His head is not the only part of his body that hurts, as he notices a couple of seconds later. In fact, he feels as if he had been thrown into a bag and then kicked and beaten to a pulp. He can't really remember when the jobless wanna-be architect left the room. He probably passed out before that happened, that's just how exhausted he had been.

The tennis player rolls to his back and yawns. Despite the pain and the fact that his coach is going to yell at him for being more than two hours late for his training, he is relaxed and feels almost at ease after a comfortable dreamless sleep. With a groan, Ryoma gets up and crawls to the bathroom where he takes a long hot bath. It is not until one hour later that he leaves his room with his tennis bag hanging from his shoulder and feeling almost like a person again. His headache has been reduced to a dull throb, and the kind of pain that he is feeling on the rest of his body is something he is already used to and can easily deal with.

Ryoma finds his coach in the hotel's lobby, sitting on a soft sofa with a folded newspaper in front of him. The man raises an eyebrow when he sees Ryoma approaching and sighs, getting to his feet.

"Mornin'," Ryoma says, without the tiniest hint of guilt in either his face or his voice.

"You're stiff," the older man says as a matter of fact. "I hope you were able to sleep at least." The tone of the coach's voice is softer than expected. He has known Ryoma for several years already, and he knows about the nightmares although not what their cause is. He also knows about Ryoma's habit, and, even though he does not approve of it, he realized a long time ago that trying to talk the young man out of it is useless.

Ryoma's coach is a stern but quiet man in his mid forties. An awful car accident that took place more than twenty years ago truncated his bright professional tennis career rather abruptly and prompted his becoming a tennis coach for future talents. Long and painful months of physical rehabilitation shaped his character, hardening it and coating it with a thick layer of patience that has become his trademark. After all, having to give up his dream of becoming the number one tennis player in the world wasn't all that traumatic considering that he still can walk on his own legs after his doctors made it clear that he could have very well ended up tied to a wheelchair.

That is probably the reason why he is so tolerant of Ryoma's oddities. That too, is probably the reason why Echizen Nanjiroh asked him to become Ryoma's coach more than two years ago, when the kid started having some awful nightmares that would wake him up in the middle of the night, turning him into an even more lonely and reserved kid than he already was, if not downright unsociable. Neither Ryoma nor Nanjiroh have ever given him the smallest explanation regarding the nightmares or Ryoma's problem. And that's probably for the better. He is just Ryoma's mentor, he does not want to become a parental figure for him. It may seem cold, but that is the only way his feelings won't interfere with Ryoma's tennis career. Parents are too protective of their kids and the tennis world isn't a pleasant bed of roses.

"You should be careful. It takes just one little scandal to bring you down and wipe you from the tennis scenario," he adds after a moment of hesitation.

Ryoma shifts his weight from one foot to the other a little uncomfortably. That is the only answer the coach is going to get from the teen and both of them are aware of it.

"You are a personality now. Don't forget that." The older man sighs again. Sometimes it feels like he is trying to talk sense into a thick brick wall, but surely Ryoma understands that there are many people out there that would seize the chance to get some easy money by selling to the media something as sordid as a fuck.

"I know that," Ryoma says, grabbing the peak of his cap with two fingers and adjusting it while he looks away. A likely scandal isn't the only problem that can stem from his current situation. No matter how tightly he can sleep after a sex session like last night's, he isn't proud of it. Even if he already got over the annoying feeling of guilt he used to dwell on when he first started using sex to numb his body and mind, it still makes him feel dirty and manipulative. But there are worse things. For instance, there is the curse of reliving _that day_ once and again in his dreams. Or the guilt that comes with the knowledge of him being the living reason that broke his family apart.

"If you understand it then it's fine," his coach says, with another sigh. "You have the morning off. You're too stiff to start training now, anyway. Try to relax and we'll work harder after lunch."

Ryoma nods and starts walking towards the door without a word. He has got too much time in his hands now, and not many places to visit left. Yesterday, he indeed went to the old McDonalds to have lunch, and before he realized it his steps had taken him to his old house where some anonymous monk - probably the one his father borrowed the house from six years ago - is taking care of the temple behind it. He visited the Tokyo Arena, the place where he and his friends used to play tennis, still filled with teenagers playing the first matches of the prefectural tournament. He didn't dare to visit his school, though. There are too many memories lying around within that building. Ryoma shakes his head. The school is out of bounds. He is still not ready to visit Seigaku.

"Yo, Echizen."

The words startle him, and Ryoma turns around slowly to look at the person who just talked. There is a young man standing next to the hotel's door, his hands hidden within the front pocket of a dark hooded sweater that looks way too big for him. That, and the fact that he is wearing grey sweat pants instead of the blueish Seigaku tennis garments, are the only things that make this person any different from the image that Ryoma keeps of him in his mind. Everything else - the hair a little bit too long, the eyes almost closed because of the huge grin curving his lips upwards and the air of relaxed confidence around him - are exactly the same of six years ago. He is taller than he used to be, but he is still a small man, almost certainly thin and pretty enough to be mistaken for a boyish girl. Even Ryoma, who is still a short kid, is probably bigger than him now.

"Fuji-senpai." Fuji widens his smile when he hears that old - and now meaningless - courtesy title but says nothing about it.

"It's been a while. How have you been?"

The youth takes a couple of steps towards him, and Ryoma unconsciously takes one back. He hasn't backed away because he is scared of the things those startling blue eyes can see in his face if Fuji decides to actually _look_ at him, Echizen says to himself, it is just that he is surprised. He didn't expect this kind of meeting.

At least not so soon.

He immediately regains his composure, his fingers automatically flying to his baseball cap, grabbing its peak a little too tightly, and moves forward.

"Saa..." It's a noncommital sound that makes Fuji slightly part his eyelids to look at the teen more closely.

"Are you headed somewhere? I thought you might have time for a cup of tea."

Fuji's face is an absolute blank and Echizen can't fathom what's going on in his head. Well, that's nothing new either. Fuji-senpai, more than any other of his old teammates, was always a mystery. Ryoma is tempted to lie and say he is headed for his training. He can remember just too well Fuji's sharpness and the slightly sadistic streak that made of him a fearful enemy and an unnerving friend. It is only expected that those features of his character grew up with him and are skilfully concealed behind the friendly smile.

"Fine," he sighs finally, sullenly, looking for a split second more like his old self than he has in the last three years.

Fuji's already huge grin widens and the both of them start walking side by side in a comfortable silence. Echizen is dreading the moment Fuji will start questioning him about the last six years. There is not much to talk about, and, except for the tennis part, his life during that time has become a huge secret that is revealed only in dreams. Or rather nightmares.

And he is not willing to share them.

He definitely should have turned the invitation down.

Fuji takes him to a smart place that makes them stand out among the businessmen because of their casual clothes, but he looks cheerful and comfortable, and Ryoma has never cared too much about appearances after all, so he relaxes as much as possible considering that a ghost of his past is sitting in front of him, ordering some expensive Darjeeling tea. Ryoma has never had a strong liking for tea, except for his mother's green tea that has always been perfect to wash a good Japanese breakfast down with, so he orders grape Ponta. Apparently that's somehow funny, because the other young man laughs softly.

"You haven't changed a bit," Fuji smiles.

But the way those blue eyes are piercing his tells Ryoma that Fuji doesn't believe a single word of his light-hearted sentence, and that he _knows_ that Ryoma has realized this. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair and tries with all his might not to look away.

"Neither have you," Ryoma shoots back with a steady voice that suprises himself.

"I guess we never stop being what we always were," the answer comes immediately hidden behind a gentle smile that tries to conceal a slight bitterness that seems to surround the words. Ryoma doesn't agree with that statement, but says nothing. He is too busy trying to understand the bitterness coating Fuji's words.

Still, six years of apartness are turning out to be a bigger obstacle for decyphering obscure conversations than expected. And being that it's a fact that Fuji has always liked talking in riddles, Echizen just sits back and crosses his legs, calmly waiting for the other boy to show him what this is about.

Fuji looks around, his smile dying a bit on his lips.

"Hyotei's Atobe showed me this café several years ago," he says, unexpectedly. The name of the school sounds kind of foreign even to his own ears. It has been too long since names like Hyotei or Seigaku have lingered between his lips. "I've never been a big fan of posh places, but they serve an exceptional tea here, which is why I've kept returning."

Ryoma looks around mildly interested. It does look like a place Atobe Keigo would recommend. But why Atobe would take Fuji to a café is another story. Ryoma'd rather not think about that. Fuji's voice makes him turn his eyes towards him again. It is almost eerie how he still looks like the fourteen-year-old he knew a long time ago.

"How long has it been?" Fuji seems to think for a couple of seconds. "At least six years. I have wondered from time to time what became of you. I was really surprised when I saw you on TV last summer, playing the US Open. Congratulations on your trophies."

"Thank you."

"Then again, I probably wasn't all that surprised," Fuji adds, as an afterthought.

Ryoma raises his eyebrows, but, again, says nothing.

Fuji opens his eyes completely to look at him, and is rewarded by Ryoma's uncomfortable shifting. It is certainly endearing to see that his gaze can still make the kid feel awkward, despite the brand new layer of indifference that seems to surround him. He knows it might be just a reminiscence of Echizen's old self, though, and it might fade as soon as they get more comfortable with each other. Fuji can't tell yet. There is a lot that he can't tell yet. But he is definitely up to the challenge. Fuji has never believed in fate, but he is starting to think that Ryoma's return at this very moment to play this very tournament could mean something.

But then he might be wrong.

Not like _that_ worries him. He has been wrong a lot of times in his life. And he is still alive and kicking. With an emotional baggage that he would have never thought he would end up carrying, to be honest, but life is like that. Especially when one doesn't go with the flow. The flow is boring and his heart has always beaten to a different rhythm.

"You are staring." Echizen's voice sounds accusatory.

Fuji's smile widens. He indeed was staring, but he also was a little too lost in his thoughts to make anything out of what he has been seeing. At that very moment, the waiter arrives with their order, sparing Fuji from having to apologize or justify himself.

Fuji takes his sweet time to breathe in the familiar scent of his favorite brand of tea and takes a small sip from his cup. He can tell his silence is making Echizen nervous, but he doesn't care. In fact, it makes the situation even more entertaining.

"Fuji-senpai," Echizen says finally.

Fuji looks at him, his long and thin fingers still holding the cup in mid air.

"Do you still play tennis?" the younger boy asks.

Fuji loses his smile for several seconds, surprised. The good old Echizen. Always thinking only about tennis. Always concentrating only on what he has in front of his eyes. Fuji puts his cup of tea down and licks his lips, enjoying the aftertaste.

"I do. I must say I was tempted to quit, some time ago, but it has remained interesting. You know I'm fond of interesting things." Fuji's smile is set in place again and he tilts his head slightly to the side to look at Echizen. "I'm probably no match for you _anymore_."

Echizen wonders about the intention behind that "anymore". His mind flies back to a certain unfinished friendly match in a rainy day. Fuji was apparently superior then, but Ryuuzaki-sensei stopped the game just when Ryoma was finally catching up. He had broken Fuji-senpai's Higuma Otoshi, too. Rather, Fuji had allowed him to break it. Ryoma had challenged him, and Fuji had accepted the challenge. That was something Ryoma appreciated: the way Fuji-senpai only cared about the thrill of a game. It is with players like that that Ryoma has been able to see his mistakes, get over them and become stronger than he was. Playing against tough opponents that want to win a game at any cost helps anyone improve. But selfless players that show you exactly what your deficiencies are and open a clear path that will allow you to overcome them are rare and precious. These are the players that push you toward your goals. Players like Fuji-senpai.

Or Captain Tezuka.

But Tezuka beat Fuji. And Ryoma beat Tezuka. Thus, Ryoma is, allegedly, better than Fuji-senpai.

_Anymore_.

Except he can't be sure because they never finished that match. Aditionally, he, himself, is proof that players can dramatically improve from one game to the next one. He also knows there are all kinds of players, starting with the ones who, like Fuji-senpai used to do, play only to their opponent's strength and have never reached their own limit.

"I saw your match yesterday," Fuji says, with a predatory smile. "It almost looked like you were dancing across the court. You've become almost elegant."

Echizen's skin tingles with a mixture of elation and trepidation and snorts. It's a bitter sound that makes Fuji wonder about the reasons behind it. It also makes him feel excited with the turn his life has taken, having thrown Echizen back into his path.

"Almost," Echizen is saying.

Fuji's permanent smile widens, making him close his eyes again. It is funny how the other boy relaxes almost instantly. It is not an obvious thing, just a very slight movement of his tense shoulders, and maybe the almost imperceptible loosening of his fingers around the purple beverage. But Fuji is too used to observe people and judge their reactions. That is his job after all. Well, it will be, some day.

"Yes, almost. Your playstyle is..." Fuji looks for a good word, for the correct one doesn't seem too proper. He was about to say _obscene_ but that's not something he should throw at Echizen on their first meeting. Not that obscene is a bad thing, not applied to the way Echizen plays tennis. It is exciting, hot, nearly arousing. Every movement seem carelessly thrown into the mixture to make up an apparently rough playstyle that's a lot more thoughtful than it would seem. Every motion seemingly offering a veiled view of what the young man has to offer, almost like a woman making use of every one of her seduction tools at once. Except applied to tennis.

Echizen is waiting for him to end the sentence. Fuji shrugs.

"Your playstyle is violent. It's like you were fighting something else than just your opponent. There is no elegance in desperation," he says finally, feeling a smug satisfaction when Echizen frowns. "That doesn't mean it's graceless. In fact, it is a delightful sight," he concedes.

For some reason, maybe a nuance in Fuji's voice, the words of the last sentences sound to Echizen's ears like something entirely different, something not related at all with tennis. Something more private and inviting that is threatening to make him blush. If it wasn't Fuji-senpai sitting in front of him, he would certainly think that he was being hit on. The both of them keep quiet for a while, Fuji drinking from his tea, Echizen playing with his glass.

A sudden beep breaks the silence and Fuji produces a cellphone. There is a cute strap hanging from the device: a small brown bear that makes Echizen smile almost wistfully. Fuji raises his eyebrows surprised and apologizes before answering the call. After a short conversation that leaves Ryoma totally clueless about its possible topic, his old teammate slides the phone back into his pocket, and downs the rest of his tea. He also puts enough money to pay for both drinks on the table and stands up, bowing slightly towards Echizen.

"I'm really sorry. Even though I dragged you here, it seems I have to leave sooner than expected."

Echizen gets to his feet as well, and nods. He tries to conceal the disappointment behind one of his trademark cocky smiles. He doesn't know exactly why he is disappointed. Especially when he was so wary of a meeting like this. Unfortunately, he still has a couple of hours to dwell on it, before he resumes his training.

"I'm glad we could talk like this," Fuji adds, with a gentle smile that suddenly changes into a more playful one even as his eyes open completely to look into Echizen's. "See you in the arena."

With those words, Fuji turns around and walks away, leaving Echizen confused enough to forget about his disappointment. After a few minutes, and with his heart racing within his chest, Echizen leaves in a hurry, running towards the Tokyo Dome. During a tournament, he usually concentrates only on the players within his block. It's not until the tournament advances to the next round that he pays any attention to the rest of the players. Echizen is not careless. He is just practical.

There is a giant graphic posted in a board near the main entrance. It contains the information about the four blocks of players the tennis tournament has been split into.

And there, before his unbelieving eyes, almost at the end of the last block where the newbies and wild cards are usually placed, there is the name he is looking for: Fuji Syuusuke.


	4. Chapter 3 Mistakes

**Title:** Spiral  
**Chapter:** Chapter 3 - Mistakes  
**Author:** Datenshi Blue  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters:** Ryoma, Momo, Fuji, Tezuka, Atobe, Ryoga, Yuuta and many others probably.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I have fun torturing them.  
**Notes:** I would like to thank Czar for beta'ing this and fixing all my grammar quirks. You would like to thank her, too, because she made this a lot clearer XD

**SPIRAL  
By Datenshi Blue**

**Chapter 3 - Mistakes**

"I told you," _Tezuka thought. He didn't say a single word, though; it was not his place to say something like that. He even felt kind of guilty for thinking it in the first place. After all, Fuji was one of his best friends and he had to support him, not rebuke him. But he had seen it coming for a long time and it exasperated him that Fuji, being the prodigy that he was supposed to be, couldn't foresee something like that. _

Tezuka kept quiet, looking intently at the smaller boy, who was even paler than usual and with unequivocal signs in his face of having endured a painfully sleepless night. "Dammit, I told you," _Tezuka wanted to say. He knew he should probably reach out at that moment and embrace his friend. He could see that Fuji needed a hug more than anything else. However, lately Tezuka had hid behind a cheap excuse that made it easier not to get involved with his friend. Now, he was intent on using that poor justification to save himself from some bitter pain. They weren't together anymore, so any kind of physical contact was always awkward. It was easier to assume that Fuji wouldn't welcome a hug rather than facing either the sudden weakness of this usually strong man or an excruciating rejection. _

The first option was painful because despite his fragile appearance, Fuji was one of the strongest persons Tezuka knew. Fuji was the kind of person that was always collected; the kind of person that used smiles as weapons. They had known each other for so long that Fuji's strength was a certainty in Tezuka's life. It might sound stupid, but a weak Fuji would break his heart.

The second one was even more painful because even though Tezuka had found out some time ago that he had never really been in love with Fuji, he loved him all the same.

So he stayed there, in silence, looking at his friend, totally lost for the first time in his life, unable to decide which step to take, what words to say. Fuji was looking at him as if waiting for something to happen. He must have seen nothing was going to change, because he suddenly smiled, a carefree grin flying toward Tezuka like an arrow, hurting him deeply and making him look away.

"Bye, then," Fuji said, and turned around, not even waiting for an answer.

Tezuka wanted to make him stop. It would be so easy to just reach out and grab his arm and pull him close, gluing his chest to Fuji's smaller back, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kissing him just above his ear, whispering that everything would be all right. But Tezuka wasn't that kind of guy. He just wasn't that kind of guy. And neither was he in love with Fuji. Such a shameless behaviour was therefore absolutely out of the question.

"Fuji!"

The so-called prodigy stopped and looked at him over his shoulder. His undying smile was still on his lips as if trying to belie the shadows under his eyes that were shouting to the world that not everything was right.

"What are you going to do?" Tezuka asked, his voice sounding a little too taut for his liking.

Fuji shrugged. Tilting his head to the side to take a better look at Tezuka, he said only one word:

"Leave."

Then his smile widened as if asking "what else?" and he walked away.

Europe.

It had taken Tezuka several months to find out where Fuji had gone. He had tried asking Yumiko, Fuji's sister, lots of times, but she kept saying that she didn't know Syuusuke's whereabouts and, in fact, had asked him to let her know if he found out something. He avoided asking Yuuta because he knew if there was someone Fuji would never tell, it would be his little brother. Even now, Fuji would protect him over anyone or anything else.

When he had questioned Kikumaru - he and Fuji had been classmates and close friends until they went their separate ways after they finished high school - the redhead had been surprised to hear about the whole story. Not only had Fuji not told him that he was going to leave Japan, he didn't even know the reason why he might choose to leave.

The answer came from someone Tezuka would have never guessed had a close relationship with Fuji.

Atobe Keigo.

Tezuka had felt cheated. Fuji was probably his best friend, but Tezuka had never known about his relationship with the captain of the rival tennis club. Atobe was Tezuka's friend to a certain extent, too, and he had never talked about Fuji. That, and also the fact that Atobe Keigo knew where Fuji had gone and why, made him feel betrayed. The whole thing had been nonsense; a lot of conflicting feelings that had complicated Tezuka's life for some time, and that had made him isolate himself from the world, allowing himself to concentrate only on his law studies. Something that had led him to end up where he is now.

Well, not literally, Tezuka thinks, looking around at the modern and minimalist - but obviously expensive - furniture of the room and the gigantic plasma TV hanging from the wall just in front of him. Rather, the way he is living his life right now: his own apartment, a nice job, a promising future.

But also the guilt of having let Fuji down, the cold emptiness of his absence, the utter pain of his loss.

It took him some time to realize that he had been jealous of Atobe, of his closeness with Fuji, and the trust Fuji had placed in him. It took him even longer to realize that he had been the one to push Fuji away the very moment he came to him, aching for understanding, and Tezuka had been unable to offer him any help. Tezuka has no one else but himself to blame for all of this, and it makes him wonder now how many of the decisions he has made all through his life have been as wrong as the ones concerning Fuji.

There is also a part of him that wonders if he can do anything to make it all better. But it is probably too late now. Lately, it always seems to be too late. Tezuka doesn't know when time started running like this, slipping through his fingers while he tries to hold it back, disappearing even before he knows it, giving him multiple chances that he keeps missing because he has always been a little too stubborn.

"Tezuka. I'm sorry I made you wait."

Tezuka gets to his feet and turns slightly toward the door. Atobe Keigo smiles as he enters the room. His slate grey hair is damp and dripping all over the crimson sweater he is wearing. There is a faint scent of roses coming from him and Tezuka finds himself warming up at the familiar fragrance.

"Not at all. I'm sorry I dropped by without notice," he says, hiding behind perfect politeness and bowing slightly. Judging by Atobe's unusually messy appearance, he has probably interrupted something.

Atobe laughs and shakes his head softly, taking a seat opposite Tezuka and gesturing for him to sit down as well. He had almost missed the slow and polite game of communicating with Tezuka Kunimitsu. It is like a careful dance, a succession of subtle steps that get you near your prey and make you back away after the hit is delivered, but before it is noticed. Nevertheless, this is Tezuka's game, which is why getting anything from him always becomes a matter of endurance. Atobe enjoys this game, but he knows that a fishing lover like Tezuka has developed a real talent to play it. After all, it requires a lot of skill and patience to get the other person to take the bait and talk about the things one really wants to hear. And, even though Atobe loves a challenge, he has never been a patient man.

"Tezuka," he drawls, a cocky smile still relaxing his face. "You know you don't need an invitation to pay me a visit. You are always welcome. Tea?" It is a simple but warm welcome, intended to lower his friend's defenses.

"Thank you." Tezuka refuses to relax. Atobe's usual subtle hit-and-run makes him stand on guard, watching out for his attacks. Atobe has always had a way with words while Tezuka has always been stoic and to-the-point. Those are just two different kinds of leadership and it is a fact that both of them work.

Atobe speaks to the young maid standing next to the table, and she leaves after giving them a respectful bow.

"To tell the truth, I wondered how long it would take you to come here," the slightly older young man says, a playful smile dancing on his lips. Atobe makes a pause before deciding he is going to try to bring the game to his ground. "I was expecting you yesterday."

Tezuka almost snorts. He should be already used to Atobe's provocations after being friends with him for so long, but by the way that simple remark stings, it seems he is just not. Too many years of rivalry stand between them. It takes a lot of his will to just raise one eyebrow sarcastically instead of glaring in response. He also crosses his legs, finding some comfort in the little motion.

Tezuka follows the movement of Atobe's long fingers combing through his wet hair and waits patiently. He doesn't want to give in to Atobe so soon. Yes, it is true that he came here and that in itself gives his friend the advantage. Tezuka wonders not for the first time if he isn't taking things a little too personally. What's wrong with just asking what he has come to ask and then move on?

Pride.

But pride is a privilege he doesn't know he still has the right to maintain. Not when Fuji and Echizen are going to be the topic of this conversation. And not when there are a lot of unanswered questions that he didn't dare to ask a long time ago. And especially not when he still doesn't know if the answers are going to have long-term effects on him.

Fuji, and Echizen. And Atobe.

It is all way too complicated. And Tezuka, despite what other people think about him, has always been a simple man. He cared about tennis. He cared about Echizen. He cared about Atobe. He got involved with Fuji.

He wanted to do his best, yet he made a lot of wrong decisions.

But he was a just kid; you can't hold all of that against a fourteen-year-old. Despite always looking older than his age, he was still a kid and reacted like a kid.

He was so transparent, and it was so easy to see what he hid in his heart that he is still amazed nobody noticed.

Ever since Echizen arrived at the club, Tezuka had changed. He couldn't help but see the huge potential in Echizen's play. It looked as if the boy had been breathing tennis ever since he was born, and that had probably been true. Until that moment, the only person able to get to Tezuka's heart had been Fuji. Right, Oishi was a close friend as well, but there was something about him, and the way he fitted in with Kikumaru, as if there was a physical although invisible link between them, that made Tezuka feel uncomfortable when around him. It made him feel like apologizing to Kikumaru for taking too much of Oishi's heart. He had always thought such a perfect partnership meant there was something else going on between the Golden Pair, and not just your typical friendship.

That kind of thinking had made him wonder about his own preferences. He had easily accepted the thought - he didn't have any proof, after all - of a romantic relationship between Oishi and Kikumaru. He knew it wasn't the norm, and not everybody would see it as something right, but he knew the two boys, he had seen part of their hearts, and within his own heart, he knew they probably had been made for each other. What was wrong with love? Tezuka doubted a girl could have been able to give any of them what they were getting from each other in the measure they were getting it: understanding, laughs, tennis, confidence, trust, intimacy, complicity, support, shared dreams.

The most important thing for Tezuka had been tennis. Tennis meant everything; he had thought at the time that there wouldn't be anything left for him, if not tennis. He didn't have time to look at girls or even to be aware of their existence. The excitement tennis brought to his life was enough to keep his whole attention. So Tezuka hadn't really been surprised when he tried to look into his own heart only to see that it raced when Fuji, the person he considered the closest to a rival, appeared way too close, challenging him with closed eyes and huge grins, waiting patiently for the moment they would be able to face each other and come up with an answer about who was a better player. Tezuka wasn't sure that question had a real answer. Fuji never took anything seriously, so it was hard to know where his limits were. He was the kind of player that played to his opponent's strength, saving his power to match his adversary's. It was hard to say what his true potential was. It was even harder to predict the way they would change after playing each other seriously.

Fuji, too, seemed to find a dark pleasure in startling Tezuka, appearing when he was least expected and dropping piercing remarks that made Tezuka's heart beat faster for some unknown reason. He didn't really know what all of that meant, although he was starting to get the idea. He hadn't known how he really felt, if he was serious or not, but he found himself thinking more than once that he would like to push Fuji against the wall and wipe that grin from his lips with a harsh kiss.

And Echizen's arrival had changed it, making everything worse.

The rookie was good. There were a lot of holes in his playstyle, but he was still a first year. One that learnt fast, at that. Tezuka didn't miss the fact that his last name was Echizen, just like the last name of the most brilliant tennis star that Japan gave to the world: Echizen Nanjiroh, the Samurai. Echizen is a common name in Japan, so it wouldn't have meant anything if not because it was obvious that Ryoma's playstyle was a copy of his father's. Tezuka soon considered his responsibility to make Echizen evolve, find his own style and shine with his own light.

Somewhere along the way, he realized he also wanted some other not-so-innocent things from the kid.

There was another missing piece in the whole puzzle. Atobe Keigo. Tezuka had known the boy for several years. The violent and definite way he played tennis always made his breath catch. Atobe was good, that was a given. Only someone _good_ would be able to keep his place at the top of a 200 members tennis club. But he wasn't good just at tennis. He had an attractive personality that drew people to him the way Tezuka's Zone drew balls to his racket during a match.

And Tezuka hadn't been an exception, which is why he freely gave his shoulder to Atobe during that fateful game. He did it for Ryoma, he did it for Atobe and he did it for himself. He didn't do it for his team, although everyone thought that his real purpose was inspiring his teammates.  
The truth is that Tezuka deserved a real challenge, someone who would stand up to him, who would be good enough to make him sweat a victory. He had badly beaten Echizen some days earlier, and he wasn't ready to face Fuji yet because that would change a lot of things between them. So Atobe would have to do. He didn't know the other captain would go so far as to destroy his shoulder, but at the time he didn't mind. It was all right.

The pain was worth it. It was worth the haunted look in Atobe's eyes - when he realized what was happening and that Tezuka wouldn't back out, and that he was going to end up wearing the weight of such an important injury on his shoulders, even if Tezuka would have never blamed him for it. It was also worth the worry in his face, the long fingers closing around his own hand to raise it, sharing the moment of glory once everything was over. The rushed beating of his heart, the sudden heat in his face, the sweat covering their bodies, the cheering of the audience, the electric shock that ran through his body when Atobe's eyes looked at him filled with respect.

It was all blurred by the memory of an unbearable pain spreading through his whole arm and part of his back, but it left him with the distinct impression of having shared far more than just a game of tennis with the other boy. He remembers having seen Atobe, Hyotei's king, hiding, frustrated, behind a towel, almost ashamed. It hadn't been the match Atobe had wanted, after all, but it was too late to change it, and it was good enough to see him so devastated at being the cause of his pain. Because that meant Atobe _cared_.

It was just as good to see Echizen's eyes looking at him, wide and glowing with adoration and badly concealed fear. It also was good to see a worried Fuji standing by him, caring for him and spending a lot of time with him. During Tezuka's hiatus in Frankfurt, Fuji had also called him almost every night to tell him with his soft, nearly effeminate voice stories about the tennis team, and also things that didn't make much sense, thoughts that were complicated and obscure and that made Tezuka discover a totally different - although not really unexpected - and exciting side to the younger boy.

Tezuka wonders if Fuji had known about his confused feelings. He was a genius, not only regarding tennis, but also at reading people.

Yes, Fuji had probably known about them, which means that he had also known that he was in for a lot of pain if he succeeded at seducing Tezuka. But Fuji has always had a knack for complicated relationships.

"You are definitely thinking too hard, naa, Tezuka?" Atobe's voice startles him and he realizes his mind has been drifting. Tezuka runs his fingers through his hair and leans back into his chair.

"You know why I am here."

Atobe's smile becomes conceited even as he stands up, walking towards his desk. It is a plain and practical piece of furniture that's standing against the wall, near the French doors that lead into a balcony. Everything about this house, or rather mansion, talks about class, money and elegance. Atobe _is_ the heir of an empire; he doesn't just look like it.

Tezuka stares while Atobe opens a drawer and retrieves a folder he brings back to the table with him. The young man stands by Tezuka's side and just as he puts the folder down in front of him, they are interrupted by some soft knocks on the door. Without waiting for an answer, the young maid enters the room and places a silver tray with tea and cookies in an auxiliary table next to them. Then she bows again and disappears swiftly.

"What is this?" Tezuka holds the folder in one hand.

Atobe shrugs and serves two cups of tea. Afterwards, he sits down by Tezuka's side, instead of returning to his place in front of him.

"The Atobe Financial Group is one of the main sponsors of the Miyako Cup. As you probably know, the Miyako Cup is a newly created tennis tournament for pros and newcomers. It doesn't belong to the ATP, the professional circuit, so it is hard to get well-known pros to play it. Everybody knows it's going to take some time for it to take off, but it will happen eventually. Echizen Ryoma's participation this year has given a lot of good press to the tournament. It seems it has attracted the attention of a lot of important players now. And they say tennis isn't about fads..." Atobe's voice oozes sarcasm for a moment. "It also takes place right before the Roland Garros, so it might be considered a good training ground for players that want to compete in the French Open."

Tezuka opens the folder. As one of the main sponsors, it's obvious that the Atobe Financial Group has a lot of inside information about the tournament. Not only figures, costs and profits, but also close information on the players that will be fighting for the cup. Tezuka wouldn't be surprised if they had even the right to veto certain players from participating. Inside the folder, there is a cover and a printed sheet of paper with the tournament's logo and sponsors that Tezuka discards with a slow motion. Next, he finds the complete list of participants ordered alphabetically. He easily finds "Echizen, Ryoma" among the names. And just a few lines later, he can see one "Fuji, Syuusuke".

"So that's how you knew," Tezuka says, calmly, refusing to give in to the shock of finding out in these circumstances that Fuji has suddenly decided to go pro. At least, the fact that the only reason Atobe knows that Fuji is back is the inside information he has on the tournament makes him feel better. After all, once the tournament is about to start, anyone can find a list of players easily. There is probably one posted at the Tokyo Dome entrance.

Atobe crosses his legs, smiling smugly, but says nothing. The truth is that he has kept the contact with Fuji during the time he has spent in Europe. And, as far as he knows, Fuji hasn't kept in touch with anyone else, not even his older sister, since his intention was to put distance between himself and his family. Talking to Fuji frequently has been an unexpected pleasure, something Atobe has gotten easily used to during the last year. He finds Fuji an interesting character. He is a complex person, with very unique ideas, an almost mysterious personality and a witty - and often dangerous - sense of humour. But those are things he found out a long time ago, when he first got acquainted with the youth. All of that, but also the strength his seemingly fragile body holds and the shrewd intelligence behind his blue eyes dazzled him. It had been easy to fall for Fuji Syuusuke. Their opposite personalities and their different views of life, and also an undying love for tennis had brought them together.

For right or wrong, it didn't last. They were young and thoughtless and didn't care much about what people might think of their relationship. Fuji never gave a damn about other people, and Atobe was used to have his bidding done. But as it turned out, the heir to the Atobe Financial Group couldn't frolic around with his gay boyfriend. It was _unsightly_.

That wasn't the first time Keigo had to submit to his father's wishes, and it wouldn't be the last one. It only turned him more careful and astute. They say that for every law there is always a loophole, and Atobe Keigo has always been a resourceful person.

Tezuka is carefully reading Fuji's background information. There is nothing too personal, so Atobe is sure he is not going to find there any of the answers he is looking for, but Atobe holds his cup of tea with gentle hands, patiently waiting for the other boy to finish his reading. Or to finish sorting out his obviously confused thoughts. Atobe cannot blame him. Neither can he feel any pity. Tezuka pushed Fuji away with his own hands, whether he realized what he was doing or not.

"Where is Fuji?" Tezuka asks, finally. He is completely sure Atobe knows. And he is aware of the almost pathetic way in which he is giving in to Atobe's game, the way he is losing. But, suddenly, Fuji is too important for him to care about a tug-of-war game. He is too important to let his own pride get in the way again.

Atobe's smile disappears from his lips and he puts the cup of tea down.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"So you know."

Atobe leans back with a slightly exasperated motion.

"Of course ore-sama knows."

_"That's not the only thing you know about..."_ Tezuka wants to say, but he won't. It's desperately evident that Atobe knows the reason why Tezuka hasn't got any news from Fuji since he decided to leave Japan. It makes him feel so ashamed he doesn't want to think about it.

There is also an almost physical pain at the thought of his apparently dead relationship with the person who was his best friend for years. That pain gets intertwined with the agony of having pushed Echizen Ryoma away when all he wanted was to motivate him, to own his heart. The words he never said to Fuji, _I'm here for you_, are mixed with the words he did say to Echizen, _you can be Seigaku's Pillar of Support from afar_...

Wrong decisions. Mistakes.

He doesn't know how he can make Atobe understand the pain he is feeling. They are grown-ups now; Tezuka has to keep his composure more than ever. He doesn't want to lose Atobe's respect. Atobe is all he has left of a time of dreams and hope; closing that door would kill the last traces of the Tezuka he once was, intent on making his dreams come true, supported by eight persons that would have trusted him with their lives if need aroused.

Tezuka's fingers are holding the sheets of paper so tightly that they are slightly trembling. Atobe can see his eyes are lost in some other time and place and he suddenly feels a rush of sympathy toward his friend. It's true that Tezuka hurt Fuji very deeply, but that was the way Tezuka was. Fuji should have known he couldn't change someone as disciplined as Tezuka. After all, it was in his blood, what with his grandfather being a judo instructor for the police and all. Tezuka had been raised with an iron hand, had breathed composure since he was born. It was only natural that he was as cold and controlled as he seemed to be. Fuji hadn't been enough to warm him up. Not even Atobe himself had been enough to warm him up. And he _had tried_.

"Tezuka."

The spectacled boy looks up at him, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"I can give you the chance to meet them. Both Echizen and Fuji," Atobe says slowly, his voice barely a rough inciting whisper that manages to make Tezuka's heart beat faster. Whether it is because of the chance he is being offered or because of the silky caress that dark voice has suddenly become, he doesn't know. Atobe definitely has a way with words, and his dark - sensual - voice has a lot to do with it.

Atobe takes another sip of tea before he glues his dark blue eyes to Tezuka's.

"There will be a gathering after the tournament is over. Something like a party for the press, so the sponsors and players will be there. Both Echizen and Fuji will be there. You too, if you want. You've got the chance; it's up to you to seize it, aah?"

* * *

Ryoma looks at the ceiling of his hotel room while laying down awake in the darkness. Fuji's visit several days ago, along with the realization that they are most likely going to be fighting for this tournament's trophy have unleashed a whirlwind of sensations within him. He is a little scared, only because having Fuji-senpai back in his tennis life brings back so many happy memories that Ryoma is afraid he is going to break down under their weight. He might have wanted to come back to Japan to find equilibrium, to get healed. He isn't sure now that this is going to be possible, considering how Fuji-senpai threw him off. What if he met, say, Momo-senpai? No. Echizen doesn't want to think about that. 

He is a little scared, but he is also excited. He has had the chance to sit down through one of Fuji's games. The old Seigaku prodigy's tennis hasn't changed all that much. He still plays with confidence, hiding behind his poker face, his insanely big grin on his lips all the time. Actually that part is even worse than it used to be. Ryoma has seen Fuji losing his smile plenty of times. He even saw him suffering badly during a trying game against Kirihara, but that seems to have been eons ago. This Fuji didn't lose his smile once during the match, but that might have something to do with his opponent being a joke.

Echizen understands why nobody has talked about this new talent. Fuji still measures his opponent during the first minutes of a match, and plays to his limit. There is no fancy movements, no showing off, he seems to be only a slightly better tennis player than the person standing in the opposite court. Of course, Ryoma - and anyone that lives for tennis - can see he is a technician; the tennis theory has no secrets for him. And his control over the tennis ball is something out of this world, even to Ryoma's standards. Okay, perhaps not anyone can see that, considering how Fuji is still a blank mask, but he was exceedingly good at understanding tennis when he was but a kid and now that he has matured he might easily become one of the best players in the world.

Ryoma has reacted by drowning in his own training. He can't think of any counter for Fuji's attacks because he has seen none, but he has to think of new moves. Suddenly, nothing seems to be good enough. His coach has welcomed this change with delight. He probably thinks his lecture had some effect on Ryoma, because for several nights Ryoma hasn't even looked for a bed partner. He was too busy thinking about tennis.

But now he is awake, looking at the ceiling, cold sweat slowly drying on his forehead. He thought his mind was too set on Fuji-senpai and tennis to wander off, but it seems he was wrong. And tonight he has been seeing, and even worse, _feeling_ the same old things all over again. Echizen wonders if he will end up going crazy, in case nothing changes. He could go to see some shrink and have his head fixed. But how can he talk about his mistakes to some stranger? How can he talk about the horrified look in his mother's eyes when she arrived home after a few days break just to find a macabre scene in Ryoma's bedroom?

It was Ryoga's fault. It was his brother's fault. That's the litany Ryoma repeats once and again, even though he knows it is nothing but a cheap excuse. Both of them were guilty for what happened. Ryoga was wild, and Ryoma was just too happy to go along with his older brother's ideas. In fact, it is true that _it_ wasn't _exactly_ right, but it shouldn't have ended like _that_.

Echizen Ryoga was the result of one of many of those affairs his father seemed to have loved indulging in. Apparently, when Nanjiroh arrived in the States, all he could think about was tennis and women, and not necessarily in that order. Ryoma can see the irony of it all; no matter the way he has always despised that lecherous behaviour, he is definitely following in his father's steps, except he doesn't care about women. It is men that make his world go round.

Ah, well, and he would choose tennis over sex anytime.

The only reason why his mother gave in to the idea of adopting Ryoga was because he had been born even before she had married Nanjiroh. Ryoma doesn't know if his father has ever cheated on his mother, but it wouldn't surprise him if he has. At least, Ryoga was not the product of many lies, but just a _small mistake of a young heart_, to use his father's words. Of course, Ryoma hadn't known this old story by the time he ran into Ryoga in that cruise during the only summer he spent in Japan. It was only years later, when Ryoga definitely came back home, that he had been told about the whole drama.

It seems Nanjiroh slept with some girl. The girl got pregnant but kept it a secret. Nanjiroh married Rinko. The girl died in a car accident and Nanjiroh was asked to take care of the kid. That was about it.

It had been a difficult time for five-year-old Ryoga, who saw his whole world go down and disappear in a puff of smoke. He loved tennis and it had been interesting at first to end up in that house where there was a tennis freak that would go out of his way to teach him. But the coldness he kept getting from the lady of the house to whom he kept refusing to call Mother, and the presence of that annoying and useless younger brother had made him run away.

Ryoma doesn't know - because he never dared to ask about it - why his parents didn't try to find Ryoga, or if they tried, how it is possible that they couldn't find a six-year-old runaway. Maybe things would have been different if they had grown up together. Maybe they would have been like real siblings.

Who knows.

Reality had different plans, in any case, and by the time Ryoga came back home, they were too old to be like real siblings. No, that wasn't exactly right. Age was the problem, indeed, but it wasn't as simple as that.

Ryoma rolls to his side, uncomfortably. He shouldn't allow his mind to keep wandering like this. Soon he is going to get to that windy afternoon when everything started. Ryoga had been back for several months already. It was the beginning of autumn, and the trees bordering their house's backyard were all showing different shades of red and yellow. There were fallen leaves and small rocks flying into the court continuously and the ball would bounce strangely on them making their game exciting and unpredictable.

The boys had placed a bet on the match. The loser would be the winner's slave for a week, and he would have to attend every little wish of his _master_. It wasn't the first time they placed such childish bets on training games. For instance, it had been refreshing to have Ryoga fulfilling every one of his wishes for a week, over a month earlier. But then their father suddenly appeared with private tennis coaches for them and they found themselves too busy with school and their own training schedule to be able to play each other. They had finally found some time to spend together and their intention had been to check if they were really improving, now that Nanjiroh wasn't training them anymore, but only watching over them. So they started playing that match.

It was an interesting game. The wind and the debris it carried into the court made the ball's behaviour capricious. It was hard to keep up with it, it was even worse than having the ball bounce on a wet court, but it was challenging and stimulating.

Ryoma ended up losing the game in the tie break.

Anyone could have won, it just happened that way.

Echizen shuts his eyes tightly and covers his head with the sheets, refusing to whisper an old and comforting _mada mada dane_. If he had been better, he wouldn't have had to do Ryoga's bidding. Nothing would have happened between them. Things would have been different, he would be able to sleep at night and concentrate on tennis, and would have never seen that horrified look in his mother's eyes. He would have never felt that dead weight on him.

A distressed moan breaks the silence. How childish can he get?

Ryoma sits up, taking a deep breath, and after some minutes, he moves toward the bathroom. He has had enough of memories for the night. He is not sure what time it is. The clouded sky beyond the window is still black, but he doesn't really mind. He's going to take a shower, and start training. There is no point on looking for someone who will help him sleep because the night is already ruined.

Ryoma wonders, not for the first time, what peace feels like. It has been so long since the last time he was able to sleep tightly that he doesn't even remember the feeling. It has something to do with dreams, emotions, and the warmth of the small body of his cat pressed against his side.

That starts another trail of thoughts. What is Karupin doing now? His mother took him with her when Ryoma was sent to the boarding school right after his parents' separation, and it goes without saying that he never spoke with her again after she gave him that horrified look that still haunts his dreams.

The warm water coming from the shower head is relaxing the tense muscles of his shoulders and loosening a tight knot within his throat. Or perhaps it is the thought of Karupin and the realization of how much he misses a pet he hasn't seen for the last three years. Ryoma moans again, wishing, absently, that he could give in to his emotions and let out the tears that are burning behind his eyes.

He slowly bends his knees, wrapping his arms around them, and stays crouched like that, his eyes completely dry under the warm water falling all over him.


	5. Chapter 4 Innocence

**Title:** Spiral  
**Chapter:** Chapter 4 - Innocence  
**Author:** Datenshi Blue  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters:** Ryoma, Momo, Fuji, Tezuka, Atobe, Ryoga, Yuuta and many others probably.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, but I have fun torturing them.

**SPIRAL  
By Datenshi Blue**

**Chapter 4 - Innocence**

Hormones. It all comes down to that. At least, that is what psychologists and psychiatrists say about it. The large amount of time you spend around your family apparently triggers the appearance of some kind of hormone that prevents the love you feel for your family members from turning into the romantic kind. Really, it all comes down to chemical reactions.

There are also plenty of papers and essays about incestuous relationships. If by reading those books and articles Fuji was trying to find a way to make himself miserable for what had happened, he surely got disappointed. It seems that as long as a relationship is consensual, it doesn't matter what the ties between the involved persons are. That's what psychiatrists think. Granted, there are some genetic considerations, but that doesn't really matters when you plan on dying without issue. Therefore, as long as it makes you both feel good and complete, then it should be all right with the world. But the world is not that forgiving. Even something like a relationship between two people of the same sex is looked down at, and it has even been considered a disease for a long time. Incest, thus, is enough to condemn you to burn in Hell forever. Not that Fuji cares about that, being that he does not believe in Hell. At least not that kind of Hell where you are supposed to burn for eternity. But he believes in making mistakes, and you would think that loving a member of your own family with a non-brotherly type of love would be a huge mistake. Something big enough to ruin your and your beloved's lives. Something definitely big enough to make your mother shed a lot of tears while your father says with a faltering voice that you've been nothing but poison for your own family ever since you were born and that they would be better off without you. Now _that_ is the kind of Hell Fuji Syuusuke believes in.

He also knows that those words were just prompted by shock and disappointment and that his father _probably_ didn't really mean them. At least his mother didn't want him to leave like that and she, for sure, didn't want him to disappear from their lives as he did. He didn't need Yumiko's messages and mails explaining to him what was going on back home to know all of that. Fuji has always been an intelligent young man, and he has always had a knack for understanding people, easily finding their weak points as well as their fortes. The same way he innately knows how to hit a ball so that it will have the desired effect, he has always known where to hit a person so that it will hurt worse. Perhaps he inherited that skill from his father. That man, indeed, is an expert at hitting where it hurts most.

As it is, Fuji had promised himself that he wouldn't return to Japan until he had sorted his own life out. Not an easy feat to accomplish, having run away from home to a foreign country without any real money on his bank account or any plans for the future. Yumiko, of her own accord, transferred some money to his bank account every month. Fuji had had the impulse of rejecting it, but in the end, he decided to accept his sister's help at least until he was able to support himself.

Yumiko wasn't the only person that had helped him out. Fuji couldn't complain; it could have been worse, much worse. It could be said that he had been lucky. Although sometimes, Fuji thinks that rather than luck, it was the Atobe Financial Group that had granted him a fairly easy life given circumstances. Not that he has any real proof of that. But he had a start a bit too smooth to be real. Getting a full scholarship to study in Oxford, England, in the middle of the year had been a reality only because his friend's father had recommended him to the University board. That much Fuji knows. That much he is willing to owe Atobe. In any other circumstances he wouldn't have accepted that kind of help, but he was desperate at the time. For all he knows, Atobe's aid ended there, although he has reasons to think that his influent friend has secretly helped him further.

Almost a whole year has gone by since he left Japan in a hurry. Sometimes he doesn't know where all those months have gone; it almost feels as though he had gone to sleep one night and woken up a year later. Other times, especially during rainy nights, it feels like it's been a lifetime since he left home... and Yuuta.

He still can clearly remember that New Year's Eve party, different from other years' celebrations because his father was home for once. They all had gone to an expensive hotel, had had an expensive dinner and had slept in expensive suites after a very western-like new year greeting ball in a gigantic ballroom full of strangers. Not exactly the kind of party Syuusuke enjoyed, but he didn't have a say in it. No one really had a say in anything his father decided the few times he was home to make decisions.

It was late, but the ballroom was still filled with people enjoying themselves. It was dark and music was playing; there was dance music mixed with idols' music, definitely too loud for Syuusuke's liking, filling every corner of the room with strident chords that prevented anyone from having any kind of conversation with their acquaintances.

Yuuta was dancing alone. He had been allowed to have some drinks and had ended up slightly drunk. Syuusuke could tell because his brother was flushed, breathing faster than usual, his eyes softened by alcohol, his lips curving easier than usual into charming smiles. He also was moving his body in a way he wouldn't have, had he been sober. It was a good thing that nobody was really paying him any attention, or he would have been surrounded by people wanting to end the night in his arms. Or perhaps that was just Syuusuke being his overprotective self and imagining things.

Fuji remembers having leaned back against the wall, watching his younger brother for what seemed to be hours. Somewhere along the line, Yuuta had noticed him watching and had started dancing _for him_, getting closer. Alcohol had disinhibited him, and the usually shy kid was dancing in a very sensual way, making his older brother look away, more than a little altered by the darkness, the music, and the almost obscene glint of sweat in Yuuta's skin.

The next thing Fuji knows, he was pushing his brother against the wall, his leg between Yuuta's, his mouth claiming Yuuta's desperately. It was a little uncomfortable, being on his tip-toes, supporting himself on Yuuta's shoulders, trying to save the height difference between his brother, way taller than him, and himself. But that lasted for just a few seconds. Suddenly, Yuuta was holding him tight, leaning forward and lowering his head to make the kiss less awkward. And was that Yuuta's hand sliding under his shirt? The elder Fuji heard himself moaning, his heart apparently going crazy within his chest. Yuuta's lips tasted of some sweet drink Syuusuke couldn't identify. There was the slightest trace of cologne surrounding him, almost but not quite covering his brother's own scent that he had learnt to love and long for. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion; Yuuta's tongue entwining with his own, that daring right hand caressing the muscles of his flat stomach, the fingers of Yuuta's left hand entangled in his hair, and all those fireworks he was seeing even with his eyes closed.

"Aniki..."

It was but a sigh, whispered against Syuusuke's lips, and it would have been enough to bring him back to the earth if Yuuta hadn't started kissing him immediately, slowly turning the tables and pushing Fuji against the wall, his knee caressing his groin almost painfully. It felt as if Fuji had unleashed a storm and then had lost control of it. Yuuta was kissing him desperately, whispering that word, Aniki, between kisses, once and again, and grazing his lips with his teeth. To think that Yuuta had been feeling the same... it was unbelievable. It didn't make sense, considering the way Yuuta had always avoided him; the way he wouldn't speak with Syuusuke whenever they spent time together at home, or during holidays; the way he had always managed to end up in a different school so their paths wouldn't cross. But then again, it did make sense, and it made Syuusuke's heart hurt, because given Yuuta's character it surely had been tougher for him than it ever was for himself.

In a rush, they moved to Syuusuke's suite. The hotel halls were deafeningly silent and this lack of noise weighed on them, making them feel as if they were doing something wrong. The elder Fuji held Yuuta's hand tight, tightening the grip whenever hesitation and doubts would shake him. They used Syuusuke's magnetic card to open the door and walked in, feeling their way to the bed, leaving the lights off in a feeble attempt to hide their sin.

They kissed for a long time, trembling hands touching here and there, discovering each other's bodies and finding out what each other liked. They took it easy, getting rid of their clothes slowly, discarding them one at a time, after making sure they had covered each other's skin in kisses and tender caresses. They both were silent, afraid that any word might shatter what they were creating, this forbidden fantasy that couldn't be real, that _shouldn't_ be real.

Yuuta had been assertive in the ballroom, but he seemed to be feeling much shier now. When Syuusuke got rid of the last piece of clothes, Yuuta made a little flustered sound that positively melted his heart. He stopped for a few seconds, looking intently at his brother, barely able to distinguish his features in the darkness that surrounded them. Without haste, he moved closer and closer, until his lips were touching his brother's. He kissed Yuuta softly, tenderly, caressing his temple with a gentle hand, feeling the x-shaped scar Yuuta had in his forehead with his thumb.

"Yuuta, are you all right with this?"

It was just a whisper, but it sounded too loud in that somber room. So loud that it made Fuji wince, hoping that he hadn't just ruined it all with that question; fearing, at the same time, that he had.

"Aniki..." For some seconds Yuuta didn't say anything else. "How could I not be all right with this?" he continued, finally. "And how could I be? This is wrong, it shouldn't have happened. But now that it happened, I can't stand the thought of giving it up. Aniki, I... just..."

That was enough for the older boy, who kissed Yuuta again, swallowing any other word he might have wanted to say. He didn't want to hear anything else. Of course he knew what they were doing was wrong, but he didn't give a damn anymore. He had wanted his little brother for too long. He had dreamt of this very moment for many years and now that he had Yuuta where he had always wanted him, he just couldn't stop because of what people might say if they knew.

Fuji kissed Yuuta's lips, slowly moving toward his neck, revelling in every little sound his brother made in response to his caresses. He kissed the curve of his shoulder, his chest, and stopped at his left nipple, biting it carefully even as he caressed it with his tongue. Yuuta was moaning now, his hands buried into his hair, massaging his head delightfully. Judging by the already altered breathing and the clumsy way he arched his back to meet Syuusuke's caresses, it was easy to think that this was Yuuta's first time doing something like this. Syuusuke had seen him with girlfriends, but he doubted he had ever gotten very far with them, being so shy and respectful. He wondered if Yuuta had ever been with another guy. Their sexual preference was definitely not a topic of conversation between the two brothers, although Fuji had never bothered to hide the fact that he wasn't interested in girls.

His mouth had gotten as far as Yuuta's navel, and his younger brother was writhing so violently that he had to steady him with his hands before he took him into his mouth. He licked the head of Yuuta's cock slowly, moving his tongue downwards and then upwards, before wrapping his mouth around it and applying a slight suction. He could feel Yuuta's struggles to push farther into his mouth, wanton moans falling from his lips as he rapidly lost control. Fuji could see his chest rising and falling as Yuuta fought to get some air into his lungs and it wasn't long until it finally was too much, his fingers tightened their grip on Syuusuke's hair painfully, and he came into his mouth, trying to apologize with disjointed words for having done so while his body trembled violently, riding the last waves of his orgasm.

Not that Fuji cared about it. He had always liked Inui's concoctions - well, with the exception of Aozu that had managed to kick him unconscious in more than one memorable occasion - and they definitely had stronger and sourer tastes than his brother's seed.

Fuji can remember that night as if it had happened only yesterday. They didn't go much further, as none of them was ready to, their relationship being too unexpected and complicated and full of taboos to be able to relax themselves and just enjoy each other's bodies. Yuuta returned the favor with his hand and then they took a bath together. There was a lot of kissing, a lot of cuddling and Syuusuke thought he could burst with satisfaction when he opened his eyes the next morning to find Yuuta's head resting on his chest, and a peaceful smile on his lips as though he was having a pleasant dream. Yuuta's hand was casually placed upon his stomach, and Syuusuke just covered it with his own, trying to go back to sleep.

It had been beautiful and it had felt so right that Fuji can't understand, even now, why anyone would think it was wrong. Granted, they were siblings, but it's not like they could have defective babies together and it definitely was not like they were hurting anyone by loving each other.

For four months they lived happily. They talked on the phone every night, but they would usually see each other during weekends. On Friday after classes, Fuji would go to Yuuta's college to pick him up. They would spend the whole weekend together, sleeping in cheap hotels whenever Yuuta got worried that he would be scolded for bringing his brother so often to his room in the university dorms.

Syuusuke made love to Yuuta for the first time on Valentine's Day. His father happened to be in Japan at the time and his mother talked him into taking her to dine out. Yumiko was having a date with her boyfriend and they found themselves alone at home, with the whole house at their disposal. They had a romantic dinner with candles and roses and moved to Syuusuke's room afterwards. Both of them were nervous and it didn't go smoothly. There was pain but that didn't surprise either of them. Even though Syuusuke tried his best to make it as easy as possible for his brother, Yuuta was tight and stiff and worried and whenever the elder Fuji tried to give him some advice, he would get jealous and angry, because that kind of advice meant that Syuusuke had already done it with someone else. It was hard, and painful, but also beautiful and delicious. Syuusuke took his time, driving his brother several times to the edge of orgasm just to slow down afterwards until Yuuta was begging him to let go and to stop teasing him. At least, he made sure Yuuta had a nice time in spite of the pain. His little brother had such a strong climax that he lay on bed, unable to move, for several minutes afterwards, panting heavily as if there wasn't enough air in the world to make his lungs work properly.

Syuusuke hadn't come, but he didn't want to keep it up when Yuuta had already gone over the edge, to avoid making him sorer than necessary. When Yuuta finally got a hold of himself, he got rid of Syuusuke's condom with steady hands and finished it with his lips, allowing his older brother to come into his mouth for the first time. He choked and coughed and made faces that threw Syuusuke in a fit of laughter and he thought that he couldn't be happier than he was at the time.

Fuji guesses they got overconfident and careless. Sneaking into each other's room when they were home together and the rest of the family was around turned into some kind of daring game. They would sleep together, trying to be silent even when they lost control in each other's arms, and exchanged naughty looks when they were eating with the rest of the family.

They were even planning to go on a short trip together during Golden Week and had been reading travelling magazines.

One night, after discussing some details of the upcoming trip, they had started kissing and caressing each other. It soon got out of hand, and Yuuta ended up kneeling on the floor, giving his older brother an enthusiastic blowjob. Fuji was sitting on the edge of the bed, panting heavily, resting his weight on both his hands, placed on the mattress by his sides, his back arched and his head thrown back, soft moans falling from his lips.

The door opened then and their father walked into the room. Fuji won't ever know what he wanted to tell them, because then it was chaos unleashed.

That was the end of it. There was a lot of shouting, and he was slapped harshly. Yuuta was taken away and very harsh things were said. Yumiko tried to calm their parents down, but they were too upset and disgusted by what had happened to listen to her.

Fuji didn't cry, although it was really hard to hold back the tears. He was scolded and shouted at for hours. He could see the sun rising beyond the windows before his father was finally satisfied. Fuji found himself thinking that it was funny that the world hadn't ended with all of that, and that the sun was still rising as if nothing had happened, his particular drama meaning nothing to the world. He left the house as soon as his father left him alone, and went to Tezuka's place. He was his best friend, and the only one that knew what Fuji felt for Yuuta. Instead of finding any comfort there, he run into a wall of coldness and indifference. Unable to think of anyone else who could understand him, he wandered around the streets of Tokyo for hours until he found himself in front of Atobe's mansion. He didn't know how he had gotten there, and he was about to turn around and return to his aimlessly walking when a car stopped right by his side. The window of the passenger seat was wound down and Atobe Keigo himself looked at him with interest.

"Get in," he said, simply. And Fuji obeyed.

They crossed the doors of the property and the car stopped at the front door of the house. Without words, Atobe stepped out of the car and led the way to his room. He didn't look back once to see if Fuji was following him. He was sure Fuji would. That was how Atobe Keigo was.

Fuji talked for what seemed to be hours. He talked about everything: about Yuuta, about the Christmas party, about how he had always wanted his brother. He talked about the Golden Week's trip, and about his father and the many things he had been told. He also talked about Tezuka and his cold reception. He had lost notion of time, and it surprised him to see that, by the time his voice started trailing off, the sun was setting already, dying the garden different shades of gold and red. He absently thought he would have liked to have his camera with him to take a picture. That made him realize that most of his photographs had lately featured his little brother. The hugeness of all that had happened downed suddenly on him, and he felt the tears overflowing his eyes. He got to his feet in silence, ashamed, and walked toward the French doors that led into Atobe's balcony in an exhausted attempt to hide his tears.

Atobe hesitated for a second. He wasn't sure whether Fuji wanted to be alone or not. In the end, he shrugged and got to his feet, walking slowly until he was standing behind his friend. Long and slim arms wrapped themselves around Fuji's thin frame, and Keigo leaned forward, resting his forehead against Fuji's nape. The smaller boy tensed for some seconds before he suddenly relaxed, his body shaking with the force of his tears.

They stayed like that for a long time, until Fuji finally started calming down. Atobe didn't say a word. He could have said something like "it's okay" or "everything will work out" or some other stupid and meaningless sentence like that, but he didn't know if things could get fixed, and it definitely wasn't all right, so he simply hugged his friend in silence, breathing in the nice scent of his silky hair while waiting for him to get a hold of himself.

When Fuji stopped shaking, he let go of him, handing him a handkerchief.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Now, sit down. We need to think of what you are going to do next." Atobe motioned toward the table. "You said you want to leave, but you realize there's no way you could support yourself as things are right now, don't you?"

"I can work."

"And throw your promising future as a psychiatrist through the window? Get real."

"I don't care about school right now," Fuji said, avoiding his friend's eyes.

"I know you don't care about anything but your own misery right now, but let's think practically. What do you think about studying abroad?"

That is how Oxford came into the conversation, being that the Atobe Financial Group had had some business with some of the most important members of the University board in the past. Some of them apparently owed Atobe's father some favors. Getting a full scholarship wouldn't be difficult and Fuji was a student brilliant enough to grant that there wouldn't be any future trouble with it.

It was very late when the boys finally went to sleep. Atobe didn't even offer Fuji one of the guest rooms of the house. He simply gave him some pajamas a little too big for him, and slid into his bed, big enough for the both of them. Fuji fell asleep easier than he expected, warmed by the weight of Atobe's body against his back, the heat of his breathing upon his shoulder and the comfort of those long arms surrounding him.

A couple of days later, Fuji had already been granted a full scholarship to continue his medicine studies in Oxford, England. He had to go home to pack his stuff, which he did during the morning because he knew nobody would be in the house at that time. He grabbed just the most necessary stuff. Some clothes, his favorite camera, school stuff, some CD's and his battered copy of _The Little Prince_. He added his tennis equipment as an afterthought.

He didn't leave a note, not even for Yuuta. He took all his cacti, though, and left them on Yumiko's desk. She would understand. She was the only one that had ever understood him. When the taxi he had called arrived, he just gave a look around and without a second thought, left the house.

Half an hour later, he was back at Atobe's place. Everything was ready. Atobe's father gave him the plane ticket the University had bought for him and wished him luck. Fuji bowed repeatedly, unable to express his gratitude properly.

He slept with Keigo for the last time that night, realizing how much he had come to depend on him and how much he owed him. He tried to find some words to let him know that he appreciated all he had done, but words were failing him. While he was in silence, struggling to find a way to thank him, the older boy simply hugged him from behind, as always, burying his nose into Fuji's hair. "Keep in touch," he asked, his voice strangely soft.

Fuji caressed his friend's bigger hand that was resting on his stomach, and entwined his fingers with Atobe's.

"I promise."

He didn't think he could sleep, nervous as he was, but exhaustion got the best of him, and he passed out much sooner than Atobe, who stayed awake for hours.

The next morning, Atobe took him to the airport and saw him off with an encouraging smile on his lips.

Fuji fell in love with the city as soon as he arrived. His dorm was really close to the building where his classrooms were, and he found himself with enough time in his hands to take a ton of pictures, even with the make up work he had to do. A few weeks after his arrival, he found this small pub, almost hidden in shadows. It was in the middle of nowhere, at the end of a dark and humid alley, but it was a very popular place among the students. He had his first pint of Irish black beer while the barman explained to him that the place was so popular because students themselves run it. It was a cheap, charming place, and he ended up asking if he could work there as well. Less than a week later, Fuji had become a barman in the pub. His job allowed him to return some of the money Yumiko had lent him, as well as getting to know a lot of people.

That's how he met the captain of the University's tennis team. He couldn't be more different from Tezuka, and that was all right with Fuji, since his last memory of his friend wasn't exactly a pleasant one. Soon, Fuji joined the tennis team and got so busy that he barely found any time to sleep. He didn't mind, though, since that prevented him from having to think too much about the reason why he had ended up where he was now.

The tennis team participated in some inter university tournaments and Fuji began to make a name for himself. It was funny that he was starting to be known as _Tensai_. After his sixth consecutive victory, he had been interviewed by the University's newspaper. Someone from the newspaper had translated the word "prodigy" into Japanese using it in the article. In a light-hearted tennis club where everyone had a nickname, the name stuck. Fuji didn't know if he liked it; it brought back memories.

He also called Atobe every week. They talked for a while and Fuji would tell him about what he had been doing during the week while trying to look happy and satisfied. He knew Atobe appreciated his weird sense of humour, and had fun talking to him. Fuji also liked those phone calls. In a succession of days where all he did was trying not to think too much about anything in particular, drowning in his training to avoid letting his thoughts drift, and having to fend off people that had an unnerving habit of hitting on barmen just to get free drinks, his conversations with Atobe were the only thing that grounded him to reality.

It was during one of these conversations that Atobe talked about the Miyako Cup for the first time. He explained that his father had asked him to recommend some unknown players to be invited to the tournament as wild cards. He asked him to think about it. He said he could see that Fuji would think that it was too soon to come back to Japan, but it would be for just a couple of weeks in spring, and he could stay in a hotel with the rest of the players or even in Atobe's house if he preferred it to the hotel.

Fuji promised he would think about it.

It was the juicy prize that decided him. Moving to a foreign country and having to make a living while studying and playing tennis was being harder than he had thought, even with the scholarship covering most of his expenses. He had been forced to learn to value money for what it was worth. That's why, finally, he accepted Atobe's offer.

Being that the Miyako Cup is an amateur tournament, he had hopes of being able to fight for the trophy, so he trained to exhaustion every day in order to increase his chances. Inui would have been proud of him. Or perhaps not. After all, these months had deeply changed him.

Now, Fuji feels that he isn't playing tennis for the thrill of the game anymore. It is just a means to get something else. And the insufferable fear of degrading the sport has been torturing him for a long time. Which is why he was so relieved when he saw Echizen's play style after the tournament started. Echizen was the person that had loved tennis best, and even he has changed enough to _use_ tennis instead of just enjoy it. Maybe that's what growing up means.

Fuji startles when he hears a noise at his back. He turns around slightly, just to take a look over his shoulder, thinking that it is probably the maid bringing some tea. Instead he sees Atobe walking into the room. He turns around completely and smiles.

"He's gone," Atobe says, with a smile, when he joins Fuji in the balcony. "You realize you will have to face him some day, don't you?"

Fuji turns to look at the garden again. Atobe's place is so peaceful and beautiful that he can't help feeling at home whenever he's there. A soft breeze brushes his hair gently, and he lifts a hand to pull it away from his eyes.

"I can't blame him for his reaction. He always told me that I was in for a lot of pain if Yuuta and I were found out. So... yes, I realize I will have to face him. Not now, though. I'm not ready."

"Stop running away," Atobe whispers, not looking at Fuji. "It's not like you."

There is a soft laughter, and Fuji leans his back against the railing of the balcony, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Isn't it a little late to say that? I've been running away for a year. And I'll be leaving again when this tournament is over. I'm not done sorting out things."

Atobe straightens his back and raises an eyebrow. Fuji looks just like always, but he has changed. There is a lot of bitterness around him that he would like to be able to take away. He wishes he would have been able to do more for him during this last year, instead of just listening to him weekly, believing everything was going as fine as the other youth told him during their phone calls.

"You will never be done sorting out things." Atobe's voice is soft but it has an edge of harshness that cuts Fuji deeper than he would have liked. "I do not think you're so naive as to think you will. There are things you have to learn to live with, things that you cannot change. No matter how much of a prodigy you are, you can't make miracles. I don't know if what you had with Yuuta is already lost forever, but I would think so. Are you willing to cut his ties with your family just so that you can have him for yourself? Ah? I doubt it."

Atobe pauses for a moment, wondering if he has said too much. His recent conversation with Tezuka must have loosened his tongue.

"Move on, Fuji. You knew it would probably end up like this. The alternative was hiding during the rest of your lives from everyone. There's no love, no matter how strong it is, that can withstand such a harsh test as that one. You know as well as ore-sama does that it would end sooner or later."

"It's not that." Fuji says. And he means it.

"Then, what is it?"

Fuji stays silent. He doesn't have an answer for that question. It's true that he still loves Yuuta dearly, but he hopes he has already moved on. He is smart enough to know that there is no point on holding a candle for his brother, and even though his heart is probably not that smart, time and distance have made a lot to dull his feelings.

"I guess it is that I don't want to accept that I have lost my innocence like this. I am twenty and I already feel as if I was a hundred years old. I hide in tennis, in my useless part-time job and in my studies, and take pictures of things that once were a part of my life, but aren't any more than colors now. I feel detached and disappointed. And it has nothing to do with not having Yuuta anymore. The world just doesn't look like it used to a year ago." Fuji smiles, a sad rictus in his face that it's threatening to break Atobe's heart.

"You have just grown up," Atobe whispers looking away. "You must be really stupid if you think you are the only one that had ever felt like that."

So _that_ is the line between a child and an adult, Fuji thinks. Once you have lost the ability to cushion your mind from the obstacles life throws against you everyday, you stop being a kid. It makes sense. Suddenly, Fuji feels like he has lost something precious.

Atobe reaches out and places his hand on top of Fuji's head, without looking at him. He caresses his hair tenderly for a second before letting go, leaving the room with silent and sad steps afterwards.

Like that, Fuji is left alone in that balcony fighting back the tears that hadn't threatened to spill over for a long time.


End file.
